Posts Tagged ‘urban myths’

1st October
2011
written by amber

The Accident

“Oh, my god! I can’t believe that just happened.”

I couldn’t move for a few minutes, just sat there absorbing the enormity of the accident, the screeching of the brakes, the impact, the car rolling into the ditch and landing, miraculously upright. And me – miraculously unhurt.

The moment it hit me that I was fine, I remembered that I wasn’t alone. The girl I’d picked up beside the road, the young pretty girl who’d asked me to drive her home. “Be careful,” she’d said, “there’s a lot of moose on this stretch of road.”

But I’d been feeling happy from an evening at the bar, and I’d driven this road a hundred times without a problem, so I ignored her whining and pressed the accelerator so I could get her home more quickly. When I’d picked her up I thought she’d be a lot more fun. She’d reminded me of a girl I used to date.

“Please slow down,” she begged. “My mother always worries so much when I’m out late at night.”

I thought that maybe she shouldn’t be hitch-hiking if she was so damn concerned about her mother worrying, but I didn’t say that, just drove faster. Her house was around the next bend, but before we got there, something stepped onto the road in front of us. Huge, dark, slow. Impossible to avoid.

So I hit it.

Afterwards, I undid my seatbelt and checked the seat beside me, where the roof of the car was crushed low. The seatbelt was still buckled but there was no sign of the girl. I couldn’t find her outside the car either.

Perhaps I’d been out of it after the accident for longer than it seemed. Perhaps she’d been okay, just like me. Perhaps she’d gone home.

I walked around the bend and up to the house. And she was there, on the porch, hugging her mother and crying.

“Thank god you’re okay,” I said, but they ignored me. The girl was talking in a high-pitched, nearly hysterical voice. “It was the same, it was the same,” she told her mother.

The woman stroked her hair. “I don’t know why you feel you have to do this every year. You’re just torturing yourself. It’ll always be the same.”

“No, this time I got him to wear his seatbelt. Maybe next year I can get him to slow down.”

“You can change the details, but not the outcome, Mindy. You hit the moose again, didn’t you?”

She cried, my Mindy cried, and I remembered everything about her and us as she wept, “We hit the moose and Eric died,just like he did five years ago.”

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story written every day and posted on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

Tags:
28th September
2011
written by amber

Space Cadet

Grandma fell ill in Mexico so I drove down to fetch her home to Alberta. She hadn’t taken the kind of medical insurance what’ll pay to fly you home if you get sick.

She’d bought a lot of junk down there, sombreros and pottery and cheap appliances, so I got this thing you put on top of your car to put stuff in, it was called a space cadet. We put most of her junk in there except for the little dog she’d bought for the kids. She called it Speedy, for Speedy Gonzales. It was ugly as sin, but well-behaved.

I was worried about Speedy when we crossed the border into the States ‘cuz there were no papers on him or anything. But we hid him and he was nice and quiet and we got across the border, no problem. But then Grandma died in Utah and I had a big problem. She’d begged me to bring her body home so she could be buried next to Grampa, but she hadn’t taken the kind of medical insurance what’ll pay to fly your body home if you die.

So I put her into a duffel bag up in that space cadet thing, and I put fresh ice around her every day and we got to the border into Alberta and I was worried sick. Speedy was hidden and quiet, and Grandma had no odor on her, but those guys on the border can be assholes, if you know what I mean.

Sure enough, they pulled me out of the line and began to go through everything in my car. When they got to the space cadet, I knew they wouldn’t like what they found.

They made me wait inside the building, and after a while, a guy with a uniform and a gun came to me and said, “Mister, we’ve got a problem. I guess you know what we found in your space cadet.”

I hung my head and said nothing, just trying to figure out what kind of jail sentence you get for something like that. He went on to say, “That animal you had hidden in the microwave oven is not allowed in Alberta. It’s a rat.”

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.

Tags: