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Short Story Sunday – “Black Ice”

11 Jan

Black Ice

The road was slick with the freezing rain that poured down from the dark clouds, and Bert shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when his car began to slide out of control from the black ice on the road.

His mind went back to his driver’s education class, and his feet moved automatically, pumping the brakes while he did his best to keep steering in the direction that he wanted to move. One of his hands flew to the hazard button, smacking it on, despite the fact that no one else in their right mind was on the icy roads at this time of night. His windshield wipers were working overtime, doing their best to clear away the sleet that hindered Bert’s line of vision as he tried to regain control of his old Jeep.

For the first time in years, Bert’s mouth muttered prayers to God, hoping He would still listen even if the last time Bert had set foot in a church was Christmas three years ago. It appeared that God had not abandoned Bert, just like all of those teachings and psalms said He wouldn’t, for the Jeep eventually cruised over to the shoulder of the road, the vehicle’s speed finally starting to slow down. Bert’s sigh of relief was interrupted when his Jeep thumped into something, halting it into an abrupt stop.

Bert stared out of his windshield, the wipers moving madly, and he squinted to see what he had just hit. There was no other car around, nothing that could indicate it had been some sort of animal, and he started muttering to God about why He would help Bert’s Jeep stop if only to kill a person with his bumper.

He shrugged deeper into his winter coat, tightening his scarf and securing his gloves, before opening his door to the fierce cold. He trudged through the snow to look in front of his car, hoping that whatever he had happened to hit hadn’t been alive in the first place. Maybe he had collided with a rock or a street sign that had gotten loose from the winds.

Bert’s breath stopped as he stared at the prone figure in front of his Jeep. Despite them camouflaging in with the snow, there was no denying the woman’s feathered wings stretching out from the backs of her shoulders.

Maybe Bert should start going back to church.

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Posted by on January 11, 2015 in Scribbles

 

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