Fiction, Relationship and marriage, Writing

Lord of the Idiots

Katie was in a hurry to get home. A long drive, more than six hours, since she left Nick’s place. This long-distance relationship thing was just not going to work for much longer. A decision would have to be made. Either break up, or they move closer.

Placing her water bottle to her lips, she swore under her breath when she realised it was empty. God, she was parched. Her tongue was wool, thick and dry in her mouth. Her throat scratchy. See, another reason this relationship needed changing. All this driving, especially in the dark, was making her sick.

She tossed the empty bottle to the floor at the passenger seat. She’d collect it with her handbag and overnight case, when she parked her car.

The block of flats was close now. Almost home. Once she drove around this corner, she’d be able to see her apartment block, and if it wasn’t the dead of night, she’d be able to see the sea stretching to the horizon just behind it. She sighed, delighted to soon be dropping into bed.

In that moment, a flash of red flooded her vision and the screech of tyres filled the space around her. The scent of burnt rubber made her eyes water. The driver of the red Ferrari was already heading into the distant inky black, but Katie saw him flipping the bird, his arm out of the open driver’s side window.

‘What a nincompoop,’ Katie said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Photo by Jannis Lucas on Unsplash

10 thoughts on “Lord of the Idiots”

  1. I can imagine the adrenaline surging from her adrenals, her heart pounding, the amazing clarity that comes from the autonomic nervous system when it kicks in.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.