Vignette: A Short-Speed Chase

The car turned the landscape into a blur of lights and darkness as it raced down the highway. Sam wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but he knew that he was in trouble.

The suspicion hit him when he first noticed that he was driving. He looked around groggily, his brain trying desperately to catch up. He had experienced black outs and sleep walking before, but usually his wife was able to manage him through these times. He dug his cell out of his pocket and punched in his wife’s speeddial.

Suspicion turned to alarm when he heard the ringing from the backseat. “Marge?” he asked, “Are you there?” He couldn’t see anything through the rear-view, and was too terrified to turn his head to actually look.

The alarm turned to panic when he realized that his hands were sticky. It was hard to see detail in the glow of the dashboard, but he already knew what color his hands would be. His stomach turned.

Panic turned to hysteria when he saw the flashing lights in his rear-view. He knew what they would find. He knew what would happen to him. He sped up. The lights behind him lagged for the briefest of moments, and then were right on his rear bumper. The needle hit 95-100-105. Sam checked his rear-view. It was the last thing he would do.

It took several hours to clean up the debris from the accident. Hundreds of rush-hour commuters cursed Sam without even knowing his name.

 

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About Jeremy D Powell

I am a husband and father, writer and thinker. By nature, I tend to be introverted. I am attempting to nurture my inner extrovert. It's going OK.

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