prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1wkuxb,The Driving Snow,Kyle Sager,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1wkuxb/,/short-story/1wkuxb/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Contemporary', 'Fiction']",140 likes,"
I tied and untied my Converse in the passenger seat, knees tucked close to my chest and sitting very still in the empty Southwest High School parking lot. One by one, snowflakes fell from a gray and motionless sky, only to land and melt instantly on the windshield, transforming into nothing but a dot of clear liquid, almost as if it were raining. It was New Year's Eve, my last year of school, and I was miserable. 
Suddenly the driver’s side door flew open and a burly man holding a clipboard leaned down. The driving instructor. 
“Cosette Evans, right?” he asked, plopping himself into the seat before I could answer. The car shook slightly and his cologne filled the interior, his stomach brushing the bottom of the steering wheel. 
“That’s me,” I replied, letting my shoes slide to the floor. He glanced down at his clipboard and back up at me. 
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Your fourth try?” 
“Yes.” I pulled my glasses out of my pocket. 
“Well you probably know the drill then, don’t you?” 
We swapped places - I meandered around the front of the car and he around the back. It was a silver Honda Civic, the kind of car Dad had when I was growing up, but a few years newer. For a moment, I placed my finger in the beaded droplets that had collected on the hood and spelled my name in them. For good luck maybe, but nobody ever said fourth time’s a charm.
“I haven’t got all day,” the man grumbled from inside when he saw me dawdling. I wondered if he was always this impatient or only with the kids who hadn’t passed their exam the first time around. 
I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, placing my hands at ten and two. 
“Let’s not waste time in the parking lot,” he said. “We’ll make our way out to 27th and head downtown before the snow gets any heavier. Big storm coming.” 
I put the car in drive and inched forward, too afraid of letting my foot leave the brake entirely. The snow was dizzying. Through it, I noticed the Shake Stop across the road with one of those colored “OPEN” signs all lit up and blinking, turning the snow that fell in front of it blue then red. Who would want to go there in this weather, I thought. Last year Jamie and I took Dad there for his birthday; it was the hottest day of the summer.
“One Peanut Protein Dream Shake please,” he said confidently to the worker. 
“Peanut Butter Dream Protein Cream Shake,” I whispered to him, shaking my head and snickering with Jamie. 
“How is anybody supposed to remember that,” Dad joked as he handed over a twenty. “It’s like the password to a secret club.” The worker laughed. I recognized her from school, a year or two below me.
But I remember it so clearly because it was the day before his diagnosis. We were sitting on the stones at the edge of the strip mall, looking over at the sun setting above Southwest High. I loved how it painted the brick walls a bright, dazzling orange. Midsummer was in full swing and the cicadas were just beginning to come out from the creek bed behind the building.
“You guys like high school?” Dad asked us. 
Jamie grinned and rolled her eyes. “It’s summer break, Dad. Don’t do this.” 
“I’m just asking,” he exclaimed, taking a sip of his shake. “I think you two will love senior year, especially you Cozy.” 
“Why’s that?”
“Because,” he replied, the sun illuminating his brown eyes, “you’ve always loved a good ending.” 
As I flicked on the left turn signal at the 27th intersection, staring at the spot across the road where he’d said that to me, I was already fighting back tears. There wasn’t going to be a good ending. Things had become so different so quickly. How was I ever supposed to keep up?
At the light, I was hoping for a left arrow, but all I got was a bright green circle. I sniffled and eased off the accelerator into the middle of the intersection. Honestly, I hadn’t the first clue what yielding meant or when I was allowed to turn.
Driving never really clicked for me. It worked out just fine for Jamie. Dad had taught her, though. Once she’d learned how to do it, he’d become far too sick to stand, so I was left to fend for myself. I took a few lessons on Wednesdays after school and even some exams, but I always lacked the confidence to speed up or keep both hands on the wheel, all while watching out for other cars. It frightened me, like I was a risk to everyone else on the road. I’d get distracted, always picturing Mom throwing up in the toilet at three in the morning and the unforgettable feeling of Dad’s grip loosening on my hand in the hospital. 
Somehow I turned safely and began driving north. The road was wide and gray, its two lanes empty except for our Civic. I stayed in the left lane, cruising a full ten under the speed limit. The instructor didn’t seem to mind - he kept saying “nice and easy” like he could sense my nerves. It helped.
I watched the trees, frozen and bare, reflecting on the windshield as if they were trying to protect us from the falling snow with their wicked branches. The suburbs built in the 70’s blew past in a flurry of white and brown. Some people still had their colored lights on, even though Christmas was finally over and the world felt worn out, like it’d just run a long race - the same one, year after year. 
“Got New Year’s plans?” the man asked me, tapping on his clipboard with a pencil.
“Not really, no.”
“Mom and Dad let you go out with friends?”
In one quick breath I said, “My mom’s in a psychiatric hospital and my dad died in August.”
I shouldn’t have let it slip out that way. I hated how nonchalant I sounded - so disconnected, emotionless, when really I was the opposite. I came across so matter-of-fact, but there was no use in lying, especially when my parents were all I thought about.
“Jesus,” he said. I could feel his eyes on me, his sympathy. “I’m really sorry.”
I stared straight ahead as we passed under the glow of another green light, feeling my face turn sour and my eyes well up. The snow was thickening now into wide clumps. I turned on the wipers. How many times had Dad driven me down this road himself, me in the rear, kicking the back of his seat to piss him off, just so he’d reach behind and tickle my legs? He used to take me to the library all summer long, back when my hair was blonde, to the fields where I played soccer in first grade, and the sledding hill behind the YMCA that no one else knew about except for me and him. 
I thought about my best friend Kayla and how warm the holidays felt at her house, with its massive kitchen island and her kind older brothers and Jack Russell Terrier, how lucky I was that she’d invited me and Jamie to sleep over on Christmas Eve. We slept in the same bed that night, just like we had when we were young and it would thunderstorm, her arms wrapped around me as I sobbed myself to sleep. Then I started to wonder why even when we found Mom unconscious in the bathtub earlier that month, I still hadn’t seen Jamie cry. Why was she always the one who could keep herself together? Why was she the strong one?
“My dad died when I was seventeen,” the man said softly, after a few minutes. 
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I’m really sorry too.” 
“It’s alright,” he said. A moment later, “ I wish I could tell you it goes away, but losing a parent never really does. Not completely. Especially when it’s sudden. It’ll always feel like a piece of you is missing in some way or another.”
I said nothing, feeling a tear slip down my left cheek. 
“Sorry,” he said, turning back to the road. “We don’t have to talk about this. Really, I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay.” 
The two of us sat in silence until we crept up on South Boulevard, where the city began to get denser, the bungalows a little older but a little nicer. We were around the corner from the country club where Jamie and I worked last summer. I used to walk around the neighborhood with her on Fridays after we finished, waiting for Dad to pick us up and take us for Slurpees at the 7-Eleven down the road. He would wink and say, don’t tell your mother. 
Before she was even seventeen, Jamie had already picked out a house on the corner of Sycamore Avenue that she wanted to buy when she got married and bought a dog. His name would be Sparky and she’d have two kids, a boy and a girl. I could never think about my future like that because I never knew what I wanted. 
“One day you will,” Dad had told me when we were sitting together in the driveway last May. “One morning you’ll wake up and open your windows and see the world in a different way and deep down you’ll know exactly what you want. You’re still so young, Cozy. And just because Jamie thinks she’s got it all figured out doesn’t mean she really does. You always think about things too much, but that’s what I like about you. You’re so much like I was. Like I still am.” 
I felt my voice tremble and say to the instructor, “Death was never something I thought about until he died. It wasn’t real, it was never something that could actually happen to anyone I know. It was only something they talked about in books or at church or on TV, you know? Like car crashes or tornadoes or something. That sort of pain seemed so far away from me, so impossible to understand. But now I get it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replied as we approached another intersection. “Take a right here.” 
Through the passenger window I saw the old Pizza Hut that got turned into a bank and next to it, the empty lots where there used to be a farmer’s market. Mom and Dad would take us when we were tiny almost every Sunday morning. I remember them swing dancing like fools to the jazz band by fountains. With silly grins on their faces they’d whirl around and all the other people would clap and dance along with them. Meanwhile Jamie and I would take our shoes and socks off and splash under the falling water, soaking our hair and our sundresses and giggling because we didn’t have a care in the world. Once we’d dried off, Dad would buy us each a Whoopie Pie, a chocolate one for Jamie and an oatmeal one for me. It’s funny, thinking about it now, realizing that little girl is still me, that I have the same hair but a little darker, the same hands but a little bigger, the same smile but a little less crooked. Remembering that time felt like looking out from deep inside a cave, from a place where the light no longer reached. In my memory, it seemed like the sun shined every day back then, and nothing ever felt wrong or sad or complicated or terrifying. 
“How did it happen?” I asked him. The wind was picking up and the speed limit was forty now, but for some reason I felt this strange sense of peace. 
“Heart attack,” said the man. “One minute he was grilling steaks for my brother and I, the next just…gone, that quick.” 
“Oh man.” 
“How about your dad?”
“Brain cancer.” I was staring at the road, mesmerized by the snowflakes dancing up the curb and weaving through the blades of flat, dead grass on the median. It almost felt like we were inside a snow globe. 
“Jesus. Awful disease.” He sniffled and quietly wiped his eyes with a tissue from the glovebox, offering me one in the same gesture, but I wasn’t quite crying anymore. After a minute he said “You know, I remember hating it when people would tell me that eventually it would get better.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I want it to get better,” I said, now coasting at the speed limit. “I just want it to be the way it used to, like to turn back time or something and be a kid again.” 
“Oh man, we all wish that,” he chuckled. Out of the corner of my eye, a kind, genuine smile. “Every damn one of us.” 
He had me turn into the entrance of Jameson Park. We’d practice parallel parking for a minute, then head back to Southwest High before the snow came down in sheets. The lot was completely empty except the shrunken snow pile in the corner, sharp with ice chunks and speckled with gravel and dirt. Even from across the parking lot I could see the contrast of the fresh powder settling over it, pure and white. I wondered if by tomorrow, the old pile would be completely invisible, swallowed up by the new snow falling from the sky and blanketing the concrete. 
“This is the hardest part though,” said the man.
“Parallel parking?”
He laughed. “Well yes, that. But I mean the first year without him.” 
“Oh, I guess, yeah.” 
“It won’t ever go away completely,” he said. “But you’ll learn to live with it, like they’re a part of you. And then eventually you have your own kids and realize your parents loved you more than you could ever understand. It’s different. But it heals you.”
The man set out four orange cones in a rectangle and told me I was supposed to park in between them. With patience, he guided my maneuvers. Back for just a few feet, turn to the left and foot off the brake. Then ease it to the right and let the car slide in between. I could hear the tires crunching the snow underneath, mapping the car’s every move, every rotation of the steering wheel and every inch backward. The windshield wipers squeaked as they brushed wet flakes off the glass, and within no time I was parked squarely between the cones.
“Nicely done,” he exclaimed. “First try, too.” 
“Thanks.”
“I won’t make you do it again,” he said, then hopped out to pick up the cones and place them back in the trunk. He bent over and peered through the passenger window. “Wow. I can’t even see the tire tracks from when you drove in here.” 
I turned and looked at the entrance, but once again without warning my memories were taking over. I thought about the whole drive there and then the library. The warmth from the lights inside and the kids I saw reading in the nooks through the windows. The long, steep sledding hill, and how tomorrow there might be a new little girl there with her father, how they might think it’s their own secret hill too, just the two of them. The old farmer’s market and the soccer fields in the summertime, the parents who cheered on their daughter loudest even though she never touched the ball. I thought of all the other kids who one day would have to go through things they could never imagine, feel things they would never want to feel. 
There was a certain stillness in that moment, that singular thought - the wind had let up and the snow fell softly for a few seconds, straight down to the earth. For the first time, I really looked at the driving instructor’s face, the warmth from his eyes, the white flecks of snow gathering in his thinned hair. He was almost smiling, his mind elsewhere, and I imagined that soon he was going home to his wife and their kids. A small and modest house, but a true home. It was New Year’s Eve for him too, after all. I pictured his wife holding two champagne glasses and his kids popping open those mini confetti cannons like Jamie and I used to. There in front of me was somebody else’s father, somebody they looked up to, somebody else’s everything. How lucky were they? How lucky had I been?
I thought about how one day I was eight and the next day I was eighteen. How I would have days where I felt even worse than I did today. And days where I felt better. I thought about finishing high school, how by the time I walked across the stage, all of this snow would just be a memory. The New Year’s blizzard, we’d call it. I’d miss this moment too, when everything was vivid and painfully clear, when for the first time since August I felt my father’s love again.
The last few months, I’d come to believe that memories were the only place I could keep my Dad, and if somehow I lost them all to time, eventually I’d have nothing left. But I realized there in the parking lot that so much of what I thought was me, was really him - my own brown eyes, the way I walked with long strides, the stupid old jokes I told, what I ordered at Chinese restaurants, how I held my mother when she was sobbing. Perhaps all of that was him too.
“Do you want me to drive us back?” the instructor asked me. “Snow’s getting pretty bad.”
“That’s okay, I’ll drive,” I replied, finally breathing out. “I actually like the snow.”
 
","August 02, 2023 07:17","[[{'F. Mint': ""Hi, Kyle... you describe the pain of loss so accurately... you almost had me weeping. \nJust one loose end... what happened to the mother? Losing a husband is not enough to end up in a mental hospital. Shouldn't the main character be grieving as much for the situation her mother finds herself in?"", 'time': '08:42 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '7'}, []], [{'Julie Mills': 'Wow. Just WOW. I lost my dad, my greatest supporter, to lung cancer. I still can feel how tightly he gripped my hand and then let go…softly and slowly. I chuckle every time I see my dads legs sticking out of my body, his eyes staring back from the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. And when an underdog comes along and needs support, there’s my dad, right there without hesitation, but sounding an awfully lot like me. BravoKyle. I am following you now and look forward to more stories.', 'time': '17:13 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '5'}, [{'Kyle Sager': ""Wow, yep that's exactly the feeling I tried to capture in the end. Glad you enjoyed it!! Thank you."", 'time': '18:36 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': ""Wow, yep that's exactly the feeling I tried to capture in the end. Glad you enjoyed it!! Thank you."", 'time': '18:36 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Kate Shcherban': 'Such a great piece of writing and a well deserved win! Life would be so much fuller if we all took the time to realize everyone around us was their own person, someone’s child, someone’s parent. \n\nYou described the scene so well I almost forgot you were limited to the confines of a car. I felt like I was right there with Cosette, contemplating the nostalgia of childhood and the pain of grief. Great job Kyle!!', 'time': '16:44 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Kyle Sager': ""<3 KATE <3 you're the best thank you sm"", 'time': '16:57 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': ""<3 KATE <3 you're the best thank you sm"", 'time': '16:57 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Racheal Pelter': 'Such a deserved win. This story embodies the idea of realizing that everyone is human, and everyone has been a kid. I felt like I was in the car with them, watching the snow coming down.\n\n I loved the way her dad talked to her especially how she differs from her sister, it’s so interesting to confirm that parents see you as two separate people, and that they actually notice things about us. Even her name and nickname is so in line with this story. So good.\n\n“It was New Years Eve for him too, after all.”', 'time': '15:48 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '4'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Congrats on the win. 🎉👏👏👏 You have been on here a while but don't contribute often. Just when you have a heartwarmer. I follow so many never get a chance to explore beyond those. Will put you on that list so I won't miss the next gem."", 'time': '16:17 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kyle Sager': 'Aww thank you Mary!!', 'time': '16:56 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': 'Aww thank you Mary!!', 'time': '16:56 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Arthur McNamee': 'Yup. I love this story. You painted a wonderful picture about true life and put it in a great tale..  I am happy I had a chance to read it. Congratulations!', 'time': '16:13 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kyle Sager': 'thank you arthur, it means a lot! glad you liked it.', 'time': '16:55 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': 'thank you arthur, it means a lot! glad you liked it.', 'time': '16:55 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin B': 'This really encapsulates the way grief manifests itself in ways that feel so tangible. Congratulations. The story leaves a real impact.', 'time': '16:10 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kyle Sager': 'Thanks so much Kevin :)', 'time': '16:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': 'Thanks so much Kevin :)', 'time': '16:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'April Schofield': 'Excellent! This was a very touching story. It was so real. I lost my father ten years ago and it still feels like it happened yesterday. Wonderful job!', 'time': '15:07 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kyle Sager': ""Thank you so much, I'm glad my story had a personal impact for you :)"", 'time': '21:19 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': ""Thank you so much, I'm glad my story had a personal impact for you :)"", 'time': '21:19 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Kyle,\nOh what a beautiful story. I had an ex who lost his mother at 15. That death hit me hard, much less what it did to him. You handled the prompt beautifully and wove in so many gorgeous details about winter that I felt physically cold. I loved that you zoomed in on a well know milestone for so many of us. Congratulations on the win!!', 'time': '01:19 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'M. M.': 'What a nice piece of work; loved how you were able to take us back into that time and place of youth, the nerves of driving tests (I personally hated them and failed a few haha).  My only qualm is the instructor always sits in the front seat next to the driver.  I dont ever recall one having sat in the back.  Other than that minor detail (unless of course that actually happened but it would be rare) its a great sad little story with lovely and deep written prose.  Congrats on the win well deserved.', 'time': '12:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kyle Sager': 'Thank you so much!! Your words mean so much. I think that little detail may have been worded ambiguously - it was meant to be that as they switched seats, Cosette walked around the front of the car and the driving instructor walked around the back! I can totally see how that can be misconstrued though.', 'time': '13:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'M. M.': 'Oh good to point that out to me thanks; I am studying creative writing so I tend to notice things....... love the prose and tone as well by the way.  I am following you now too.', 'time': '18:39 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': 'Thank you so much!! Your words mean so much. I think that little detail may have been worded ambiguously - it was meant to be that as they switched seats, Cosette walked around the front of the car and the driving instructor walked around the back! I can totally see how that can be misconstrued though.', 'time': '13:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'M. M.': 'Oh good to point that out to me thanks; I am studying creative writing so I tend to notice things....... love the prose and tone as well by the way.  I am following you now too.', 'time': '18:39 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'M. M.': 'Oh good to point that out to me thanks; I am studying creative writing so I tend to notice things....... love the prose and tone as well by the way.  I am following you now too.', 'time': '18:39 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Subroto Sinha': 'Congrats for a well-deserved win!  A touching story which touched my heart and left me wondering why everybody\'s life cannot be like the football player who enters the field, plays his game, and goes home! Your realization in the parking lot brought back memories of William Wordsworth\'s words, ""child is the father of man.""', 'time': '11:50 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ben LeBlanc': ""Great masterclass in juggling different timelines and fusing them into a central track of tension (car ride). That's what I tried to do with my story (there's only so much you can cover from the inside of a car without going to flashbacks lol) but you did it great. The prose was stripped down and really let the emotion of the protagonist shine through. Good story."", 'time': '03:59 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Carol Quinn': 'Congratulations Kyle. Your writing is so vivid. It was almost like driving down memory lane. The main character recalls memories unfolding at each place she drove past. It felt very real.', 'time': '03:51 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lara Deppe': 'Well deserved win! 😁', 'time': '02:42 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Grief is such a difficult thing to walk through. You captured it perfectly. Well-earned win with such a beautiful story, Kyle. Congratulations!', 'time': '01:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Andrey Trofimov': ""It's inspiring how she found strength, reslience and motivation (or the drive) to keep on going after such a great loss. The last paragraph is her victorious punch line."", 'time': '22:40 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I don't care for coming-of-age stories, but this is brilliant: A thoughtful, touching, and soulful exploration of personal loss and grief.\n\nI think what stands out, is not the clarity of the memories the narrator shares, but the unavoidable fact that memories foist themselves on us. Sensory input jogs our memories loose whether we want them or not. \n\nWe all imagine we're in control, or everyone else is operating solely in the present, but it's not true. Most of us are wandering around, one foot stuck in the past, the other foot finding its p..."", 'time': '21:15 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kyle Sager': ""You put it perfectly. I live in my memories, so it tends to seep intensely into my writing. I think all the stories I've written here are woven with a sense of nostalgia. \n\nThank you Ken, so happy you enjoyed my writing :)"", 'time': '13:11 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': ""You put it perfectly. I live in my memories, so it tends to seep intensely into my writing. I think all the stories I've written here are woven with a sense of nostalgia. \n\nThank you Ken, so happy you enjoyed my writing :)"", 'time': '13:11 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kay Smith': 'Beautiful story! It had me sitting here with tears in my eyes hoping for some kind of closure for the main character. \nThe heartbreak of losing a loved one, a spouse, a parent, or even a child is horrific and you detailed all of those ""remember when\'s"" so well! \nFollowing!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Malaika Shaikh': ""Very good story, I really liked how using the information provided I could really imagine the main character's situation and the cold day and the car and everything. Great job!"", 'time': '19:07 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sultan Rysbek': 'That story was cool keep up the goodwork😁', 'time': '18:59 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Frances Gaudiano': 'This is masterful. You tell a full story in a confined space. I am awestruck.', 'time': '18:46 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Erin Van Kal': ""Wow, this is amazing!! It's not everyday that I get to read a story so incredibly accurate and sad, yet calming in a sense. I was so deep in your words that I felt as though I was Cosette, I felt like I was driving through the snow. Every little ounce of detail that you poured into this story was enthralling and overflowing with emotion and beauty."", 'time': '00:44 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Maureen MacLennan': ""A wonderful story Kyle! I've lost both parents and a brother to cancer and I know how grief comes when you least expect it, Very well done on the prompt too."", 'time': '15:57 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jody S': ""Beautiful and sad and sweet!! I love how you captured the feelings of losing a dad! I miss mine every day and he's been gone over 15 years!"", 'time': '19:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Girasiya Nathan Babvu': ""I was rolling with emotion all the while from this fine depiction. This is one great story Kyle. You're just the best director with the keyboard and alphabet."", 'time': '09:16 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Buddy Calvo': 'What a fantastic story. A true glimpse into a moment in the life of. It made me feel something and that’s really what stories are supposed to do, good ones at least. Great job.', 'time': '22:34 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Linda Lovendahl': 'A great transition encapsulated within a task we all must conquer.\nthanks Linda', 'time': '23:31 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lorin Buck': ""Congratulations, Kyle, on your win! Once I started reading your story, I couldn't stop. I know grief well, having lost my son 13 years ago. What I like best about your story is the fact that the narrator is in a car -- such an effective metaphor -- the road test being one step on her journey. When we're grieving, isn't it like driving a car in some ways? We just keep going, feeling hesitant, stopping and starting, following routes that are familiar so as not to lose our way, until finally we feel confident enough to step on the gas and head ..."", 'time': '20:21 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Larry Litton': 'Great story Kyle -  very moving.  Thank you so much for sharing this.  \n\nLarry', 'time': '19:24 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Adzhit Kumar Anand Bkhavan': 'Good writing!', 'time': '14:59 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Donna X': ""You brought back memories of my driving lessons, and how challenging it was for my dad to buy us 3 kids used Ford cars which failed on the Oyster Bay Expressway on Long Island NY in the 90s. We did not have AAA back then. I know what it's like to stand on the side of a highway in intolerable summer heat with humidity, waiting for help, and realizing that with the combination of heat, humidity and high blood pressure, I could die. I still do not know why my dad  and my Uncle Carl prefer Fords over Toyotas."", 'time': '03:19 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Wally Schmidt': 'I love what you did with the prompt and I love what the judges did with the winning entry. \nThere are so many layers to your story -a driving test, a reckoning with loss, a bonding with a stranger, a blizzard to be negotiated- and it all works seamlessly. You have the reader right in the car with you staring at the wipers brushing away the falling snowflakes.\nThe descriptions are so vivid. One tiny unassuming line highlighted what a wonderful writer you are, your ability to hone in on details and bring them to the page, and that was :""... th...', 'time': '18:27 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Live entertainment. Fine work here. Congrats.', 'time': '16:34 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Geir Westrul': 'Wonderful story, Kyle. For all of us who have lost a parent, it hits home. \n\nThe way you structured the story was masterful, all confined to a car (as the prompt required), yet still packing in all the memories, and — through the empathetic driving instructor —  coming to closure, coming of age, coming through both the driving test and into a new place in her life.', 'time': '13:26 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'KG Green': 'A fanastic and warming story Kyle and one worthy of winning!', 'time': '18:32 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Oh my that was a wonderful story .. I lost my wife back in late December... 57 .. early Onset alzheimers dementia ... thanks for this !!', 'time': '18:09 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Saundra Campa': 'I love the way you wrote about the different places she drove past and how she had memories of her dad and mom there. Touching story. I lost my dad 14 years ago and I miss him so much. Congratulations on your win.', 'time': '17:11 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Pamela Brown': ""Hi Kyle,  I didn't expect this!  A story about a car drive and a lesson that took me to my own parents.  I am now 95.  I too passed through that terrible time, but as in your story, time does heal, and Cosy will remember all the good things in time.\n\nLoved the way you told the story; Cosy was very young.  You used just enough of her youthful expressions to show that.  You kept the driving reality alongside the grief and brought in the past with the present.  All beautifully expressed.  A very worthy winner.  Good Luck with your career as a w..."", 'time': '13:15 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carla Ward': 'My dad died when I was a 17 year old high school senior almost 50 years ago. This story has a lot of truth to it.', 'time': '12:29 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'F. Mint': 'Congratulations on the win!', 'time': '08:26 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anne Wilkins': ""I don't stop by on Reedsy too often, but I'm so glad I did today. What a wonderful story, you had my eyes watering up. Beautifully told. Well done!"", 'time': '02:36 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""I liked the slow pace of the story, 'cruising a full ten under the speed limit'. The different places in town where memories of the Father still lived, were a great connection to the grief Cozy felt.\n\nCongrats!"", 'time': '23:53 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katy B': 'Congratulations, Kyle! I was very moved by your story. The most relatable lines to me were ""I thought about how one day I was eight and the next day I was eighteen. How I would have days where I felt even worse than I did today. And days where I felt better."" Well done!', 'time': '23:49 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anne Delfosse': 'Kyle, thank you for sharing this beautiful story. You managed to turn one car ride into a very sentimental, moving message. I love this. Great job.', 'time': '22:49 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J R': 'Congratulations kyle,', 'time': '21:07 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ayndy Lou': 'Oh man... this brought tears to my eyes.', 'time': '20:57 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'Beautiful story.', 'time': '20:11 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Beautiful story, Kyle. Congrats on the win!', 'time': '17:50 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Pat Ruhe': 'A lovely, well written story! Congratulations on the well deserved win!', 'time': '17:27 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen McDermott': 'This hit hard. I wanted so desperately to pass my driving test so I could drive my dad around after his stroke disabled him. Fortunately I did - on the fifth go! - and was glad I got to take him around a bit before he passed four years ago. Well done on the win.', 'time': '16:59 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sherri Moorer': ""I get this. I'm coming up on 3 years since my own Dad passed, and you really never do get over it. I was crying yesterday because I realized how much I've changed these past years, and what a shame it is that he can't me know me as I am now. And I'll be 48 soon! Excellent story, and excellent timing for me to run across it. Congratulations on the win. You deserve it."", 'time': '15:31 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kyle Sager': ""thank you so much Sherri, you're so right - its a shame those we've lost can't see us as we are now, you put that so well."", 'time': '16:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kyle Sager': ""thank you so much Sherri, you're so right - its a shame those we've lost can't see us as we are now, you put that so well."", 'time': '16:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,lyl46d,Perfect ,Michelle Oliver,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lyl46d/,/short-story/lyl46d/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama']",44 likes,"
I successfully flag down a taxi, which is no mean feat in this day of Uber this and Uber that. I hadn’t planned on catching a taxi. In fact, I hadn’t caught a taxi in years and I’m a little unsure of the correct taxi protocol. So, I suppose the first thing is to tell the driver where I want to go. I open my mouth to do so, when the other passenger door is wrenched open and a froth of tulle and lace tumbles in breathlessly.“Follow that limo!” an urgent voice from amid the silky concoction demands.“Um, miss, this is my taxi,” I tell her as I try to make out her face beneath the layers of fabric that scrunch about her.Slender arms beat at the fabric, punching down the layers and ruffles to expose the most exquisite china doll face, made up with dewy perfection to enhance the great luminous orbs of her eyes and rosebud pout. All of this she turns on me with lethal force.“Please!” She switches the full force of her regard to the hapless taxi driver. “Please, just follow that white limo.”I look at her, really look this time and it registers in my brain that the yards of tulle and lace and ruffles is a wedding dress. I am sitting in the back seat of a taxi with a bride. Not my bride, never that! And within the space of the most minuscule portion of a second, I realise that I will not sleep tonight if I don’t learn the whole story.“Follow the limo,” I tell the taxi driver, who looks beyond puzzled at the turn of events, but he carefully pulls out into the traffic.“Listen lady, my name is not Ross, and yours had better not be Rachel!” The bride looks at me with confusion. She is obviously too young to remember the sit com about six friends that began with a bride running from her own wedding.“I’m Madison. Madison James.” From somewhere within the mountain of froth, she extends her hand with its perfectly manicured nails for me to shake.“Daniel Carlton,” I reply, taking her dainty hand in my own. “I can’t help but pry, considering you have hijacked my taxi. But why are we following that car?”“Please hurry. He’s getting away.”‘He’ could have been a number of people. In fact, without doubt ‘he’ represents nearly fifty percent of the population, myself included, but considering her attire, I was going to go out on a limb. “I am assuming the ‘he’ to whom you are referring is the groom? I presume he is not waiting for you at that church.”“Oh no, he was at the church. I made sure of that. I wasn’t getting out of the car until Josie, that’s my bridesmaid, the chief bridesmaid, which I suppose is the Matron of Honour, but she’s not married, so the Maid of Honour then. Well, I wasn’t getting out until Josie checked and she saw him there. She said he was waiting, so I get out of the car and was in the middle of posing for the photos outside the church, when I saw him at the limo. And suddenly I just knew that Vince and I, we weren’t going to be getting married, not now and maybe not ever.”“Once again, I will assume that Vince is the groom?”“Of course. And when the limo drove away, and I saw this taxi and well, I ran and here I am.” She shrugs, the fabric slipping a little down one well-formed shoulder.“I see.” I don’t really, but it is something to say while my brain processes her story. She speaks in a rush, in a manner that’s more air than sound, as if she were afraid of her own voice.“When we catch up with the limo, do you know what you will do next?” I ask, curious to see if she had formulated any kind of plan.She bit a well-manicured nail absently, her brow crinkling with the weight of her thoughts.“Well, I suppose I should go straight back to the church so we can get married.” She raises her eyes to mine, lost and bewildered. “Everyone is there, Mum and Dad, and Nana Jean, and Mary, and Savannah with all her children, and just about everyone I’ve ever known.”“You would still marry this Vince, even though he’s obviously not overly… um… well…” How to put it gently? “Obviously not willing?”Madison turns the force of those luminous eyes upon me, and I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy. “You don’t understand. He does want to marry me. This is not his fault. It’s just cold feet. Nerves, you know. We all get nervous!”“I see.” And I did. If this child was more than twenty, I’d be surprised. Oh, to have the hopeful naïveté of youth. “How long have you and this Vince been together?”“Two years.”“And based on two years of knowing him, you are sure that this is the man for you. No other man can possibly be better suited?”“Of course, we’re soul mates!”Soul mates? What utter drivel. But I don’t say that out loud. I’m not that insensitive, no matter what Alison says. So instead I ask, “Tell me about Vince. What is he like?”“He’s a Business Major and wants to run his own company one day.”“What kind of company?”“I don’t know, but he says it will make a lot of money.” I sigh inwardly. So many of the young grads we employ have the same vague mindset of get rich quick, but lack the passion, patience, perseverance and persistence needed to make it. I call it the Four P’s for Success.“What makes you certain that he’s your soulmate?”“We’ve been together for two years. He’s the one.”“I was with my ex-wife for fourteen years before she walked out on me. Time together doesn’t equal a good relationship.”If I sound bitter, then that was because I am bitter. I had just left the attorney’s office, lighter by fifty percent of all my assets and savings. Alison had wanted sixty, but I beat her down to fifty on the condition that she sign immediately and never speak to me again. Was I angry? Yes. Was I disappointed? No. I always knew what Alison was, and she had proved true to the end. Hard, driven and self righteous. That was my ex wife. What had I ever seen in her? It must have been something more at some point. But after years of wrangling and backstabbing on both sides, I was hard pressed to remember a time when I looked at her with any kind of hope or love.“Do you like the same things? Have any shared interests?” I ask, because Alison had never liked a single thing that I liked, and I could see it now. It wasn’t very obvious during our marriage, though. I just thought we were lucky to be so independent, you know, not living in one-another’s pockets.“We are both interested in history,” Madison says after a pause. “Um… I meant we both read about it. Vince likes to read about famous people, like biographies and things like that. I like reading novels, you know about people who lived in different times. Historical fiction.” She blushes, a charming wave of colour floods over her cheeks.I wonder if her reading was full of Mr Darcy and Heathcliff, or more like that Netflix series about Dukes and Duchesses and heaving bosoms. I’ll bet it was the latter, not that there was anything wrong with that, but it wasn’t really historically accurate then, was it?“Do you do anything else together?”“Rock climbing.”“So, you enjoy the outdoors?”“Well, it was indoors, and we only did the one time.” She flashes her left hand in my direction. “When I got to the top, he proposed and everyone cheered.”“Now that’s hardly a romantic place to pop the question. I guess that it’s something you both enjoy?”“Oh, he loves climbing, I just… well, after I said ‘yes’ I kind of overbalanced and fell. Kris, who was holding the rope, was too busy cheering for us and I crashed into the mat and dislocated my shoulder. I have never climbed since.”“So apart from reading different books and a singular, disastrous indoor rock climbing event, what else do you do as a couple?”“We walk and talk a lot.”“Do you agree with each other’s opinions?” I can’t remember a time when Alison and I had agreed on anything, oh I lie. Sometimes we agreed to disagree and today she had agreed to sign.“Well, mostly I listen. He’s so very knowledgeable about a great many things. You know he reads a lot about everything and well…” her voice trails off.“Do you get along with his family?” Alison hated my mother. And her mother was a lying bitch who filled Alison’s head with nonsense that she believed.“Well, none of them could make the wedding. They’re in Italy and we were going to go there for our honeymoon but…”“But?” I prompt.“But it’s too expensive. We’ve booked a little chalet down south for four days instead.” She won’t meet my eyes and I can barely hear her as she adds, “I really wanted to see Italy.”“So let me get this straight. You’re settling for a man that you have very little in common with, and when he runs out on you, you want him back. Seems to me that you’re well rid of him.”“You wouldn’t understand. I love him.”“You’re right, that is something that I don’t understand.” Alison would agree with that statement. I settle back in the seat watching as the taxi driver weaves and turns through the streets, easily following the stretched limousine.“I just didn’t want two years to be wrong.” Her voice is small and her hands twist the white fabric, crunching it beyond repair between her fingers.“Better to find out you’re wrong after two years than after fourteen.”“I need to talk with Vince. I need to find out if I am wrong.”“Call him.”“I don’t have my phone. I didn’t think I would need it just to walk down the aisle.”“Here, use mine.” I fish my phone from my pocket and hand it to her. She dials.“Hey Vince, it’s me… where are you?” Silly question. He’s in the limo. “I’m sorry…” What on earth is she apologising to the asshole for? “No, I just suddenly realised that I can’t go through with it… I know… yeah… I should have talked to you, but all of a sudden I was unable to breathe… can you let my parents know that I’m OK and tell the guests that I’m sorry.”She stills, listening. I can hear the tirade coming through the speakers.“I’m not sure, I don’t know. I am sorry. I should never have let it get this far.”She disconnects the call and hands me back my phone, not meeting my eyes.“So Vince is not in the limo?” She shakes her head. “You lied.”“I never said he was in the limo,” she protests, still unable to look my way.“Then why on earth are we following the limo?”She shrugs one shoulder. “I just didn’t know where to go, as long as it was away.”I lean over to the front seat, where the driver is listening intently to the conversation. I am sure it’s been just the best soap opera he has ever had in the back of his taxi. “Back to the church.” I tell him.I study the lovely little runaway, feeling incredibly old and tired.“Honesty, Madison. It is the one thing that you need to practice, and you should start with yourself. Be honest, what is it that you want? Don’t let anyone else, me included, tell you what to do or what to think. But if you’re not honest with yourself, you will hurt everyone around you.”“I know, but have you ever started something, and then suddenly it gets bigger and crazier and, well, you just can’t seem to stop it, and you’re not even sure if you should?”“Yes, I have. And let me tell you that fourteen years later is not a good time to stop it. If you’re not sure, tell him now.”“I don’t think he will ever speak to me again.”“Maybe not.”“My parents will disown me.”“Not if they love you.”“I’m such a screw up. I just wanted to be perfect for one day, you know, a perfect bride, and I couldn’t even get that right.”“No one is perfect, Madison,” I tell her and those words echo around my head. No one is perfect. Not me, not Alison. We’re all just doing our best from moment to moment.We sit in silence, each lost in our respective thoughts, until the taxi pulls into the space in front of the church. The steps along the front of the church are overflowing with curious wedding guests dressed in their wedding finery like brightly plumed birds.“I’m sorry for hijacking your taxi,” Madison says, unable to meet my eye as she slips out in a rustle of silk. I don’t envy her. She has an awful lot of explaining to do.I give the taxi driver my address and I leave the drama behind. Fresh starts and all that, you know. Maybe an extended stay in Italy would do the trick.
","July 29, 2023 07:19","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hey Michelle,\nOh what a charming story. I love that it was a surprise friendship because those are simply the best. I loved the way these characters found value in one another and their life journeys. Your use of the protagonist’s thought process within the convo was very smart. It felt incredibly real to us as readers since conversation is rarely as neat as it seems in Hollywood. Nice work!!', 'time': '13:45 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading and I’m happy that you enjoyed it. I appreciate your feedback.', 'time': '15:22 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading and I’m happy that you enjoyed it. I appreciate your feedback.', 'time': '15:22 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': ""I love everything about this story, it has everything, a bit of action, conflict, a decision, interesting dialogue (very important, it kept my interest for the whole thing), internal reflection, a bit of seriousness and a bit of humor too, and successful twist at the end. Well done!\n\nBonus points for the comparison of the relationship of the divorcee and the bride to be, it's like conversation of older/wiser with younger/naive. Different looks on life because of the different experiences (or lack of experience). \n\nI enjoyed reading it, thank..."", 'time': '15:52 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it. I’m glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '23:24 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it. I’m glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '23:24 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Karin Eriksson': 'Great story - enjoyed reading. Found myself nodding as I went along & read the dialogue.', 'time': '21:44 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '10:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '10:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Great, held my interest through, excellent points and true to life. As always, well written.', 'time': '21:40 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for giving it a read. Appreciate the feedback as always.', 'time': '22:35 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for giving it a read. Appreciate the feedback as always.', 'time': '22:35 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Michelle you have woven a classic tale around a bride whose matrimonial aspirations come crashing down but in the process you have strung together lessons in human nature that enlighten the minds of the readers. Very creative and deserves at least a short list!', 'time': '10:28 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m happy that you enjoyed the story.', 'time': '13:32 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m happy that you enjoyed the story.', 'time': '13:32 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Brenda Ratliff': ""Michelle, this is an awesome story.  I appreciate that it is unpredictable.  My favorite moment was when I realized that the groom had not run out on the bride, but that it was the other way around.  (I love surprises.) I am trying to work up the courage to submit to this week's contest. (I think it is a good way to practice my writing.)  I can't wait to read your next one."", 'time': '22:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it and leaving a comment . (This is a lovely community so please don’t feel afraid to post your story.)', 'time': '00:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it and leaving a comment . (This is a lovely community so please don’t feel afraid to post your story.)', 'time': '00:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Arthur McNamee': ""This is a great story and I enjoyed the banter. It is so true to life and so honest in it's approach. Loved it!"", 'time': '14:29 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it. I’m happy hat you enjoyed it.', 'time': '14:32 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it. I’m happy hat you enjoyed it.', 'time': '14:32 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""A wise a wonderful run-away tale masterly told, Michelle.  I'm not quite sure how you did it, but you ran a tutorial on 'how can you be sure'  that should be a pamphlet available to  all those newly betrothed.   A  cautionary tale, to my mind  the  best tale to read closely.  \n\nNice work, Michelle, well done.  :)"", 'time': '21:16 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Susan. A little light hearted seriousness this week.', 'time': '23:55 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Susan. A little light hearted seriousness this week.', 'time': '23:55 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'This is such a great story, Michelle. The switch from Madison chasing to Madison running was brilliant! \nThe end was “perfect”, too. Such a sense of freedom as they both plan to walk away and move on, wherever life may take them.', 'time': '13:36 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks I’m glad you enjoyed it. I find endings hard so I’m glad this one worked. Moving on is only possible if you let the past stay in the past. Bringing it with you only weighs you down.', 'time': '13:48 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks I’m glad you enjoyed it. I find endings hard so I’m glad this one worked. Moving on is only possible if you let the past stay in the past. Bringing it with you only weighs you down.', 'time': '13:48 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Riana T': 'What a brilliant one! Kept me hooked till the end. Very well written, the flow - superb', 'time': '10:15 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you.', 'time': '11:14 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you.', 'time': '11:14 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Loved the ""Friends"" reference. Great perspective on the evident generational differences and the meaning of marriage and love.', 'time': '18:44 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '23:02 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '23:02 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Lovely! Love and loss, youth and wisdom, and taxi theft - all in one.\n\nThe deke out, where we assume Vince was the one that ran away, was well done. Even to a stranger, she couldn't admit she was the one that ran away because she needed the last two years to be right. Not until he called her bluff, anyway.\n\nAnd the narrator learns something too. That he's able to see his ex as a person, just struggling day to day, says much. By helping Madison, he helped himself unexpectedly too.\n\nCritique-wise, it reads very smoothly, pulls you right in. Th..."", 'time': '01:52 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I appreciate the feedback. Glad it worked', 'time': '09:00 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I appreciate the feedback. Glad it worked', 'time': '09:00 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hey there, Michelle -\n\nGrin - 9 likes, 17 comments already, and it hasn’t head out of the gate? You’re doing something right around here!\n\nA froth of tulle and lace was funny… your description, luminous orbs, also good. Repeating tulle and lace probably wasn’t necessary. I like the situation, the immediate call to action, with the Bridezilla popping into the taxi and your narrator just going with it, that’s cool. Telling the background story and surrounding it with sensation is good technique. The depth you bring into the bride character is ...', 'time': '15:04 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Russell. I appreciate your detailed response. It means a lot coming from someone who has such great writing chops. I will go back and look at the repeated section. My intention was to highlight the event rather than the person, running with the idea that events, like weddings, sometimes take over a person’s life, becoming more important than the people involved.', 'time': '22:15 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Russell. I appreciate your detailed response. It means a lot coming from someone who has such great writing chops. I will go back and look at the repeated section. My intention was to highlight the event rather than the person, running with the idea that events, like weddings, sometimes take over a person’s life, becoming more important than the people involved.', 'time': '22:15 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'I loved the parallels of this piece, the extremely recent divorcee versus the bride that wants a perfect day from a bad relationship. Really great idea, fantastically executed... As always!\n\nI noticed two minor typos if you want to fix them before approval.\n\n-, I ran and hear I am.” \n\n-“No one is perfect, Madison,” I tell her and I those words echo around my head. \n\nAnother brilliant submission Michelle!', 'time': '15:56 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the pick ups. No matter how many times I re-read, I still don’t see the silly mistakes, typos and autocorrect gone mad. So happy that you spotted them before approval not after.', 'time': '16:58 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""We all do it, I  think we read what its meant to say regardless of errors ha! I used gavel in my lastest entry but accidentally wrote gravel, I couldn't see it until I posted ha"", 'time': '17:18 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the pick ups. No matter how many times I re-read, I still don’t see the silly mistakes, typos and autocorrect gone mad. So happy that you spotted them before approval not after.', 'time': '16:58 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""We all do it, I  think we read what its meant to say regardless of errors ha! I used gavel in my lastest entry but accidentally wrote gravel, I couldn't see it until I posted ha"", 'time': '17:18 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""We all do it, I  think we read what its meant to say regardless of errors ha! I used gavel in my lastest entry but accidentally wrote gravel, I couldn't see it until I posted ha"", 'time': '17:18 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Great imaginative writing as always, Michelle!\nSo many layers for both characters to sort out on a car ride.', 'time': '17:43 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you.', 'time': '23:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you.', 'time': '23:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Great tale, Michelle, and one that many of us can relate to. I remember a comment a friend made to me as I was going through a divorce after many years of marriage: it seems a shame since you both have so much time invested in each other. Yeah. That message stayed with me, more for its utter ridiculousness than anything else.\n\nYou\'re now my favorite person on this site. Why? Because you scoff at the ""soul mate."" I have an aversion to the term. As Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues) states, ""Love is a dirty business."" And it is, if you ...', 'time': '11:59 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks so much for reading. Divorce is a bitter process, often it’s because of the time invested in the other person, but it doesn’t mean staying in the relationship is the better option. Thank you for always reading my stories and for responding so positively. I look forward to what you have to say each week.', 'time': '14:53 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks so much for reading. Divorce is a bitter process, often it’s because of the time invested in the other person, but it doesn’t mean staying in the relationship is the better option. Thank you for always reading my stories and for responding so positively. I look forward to what you have to say each week.', 'time': '14:53 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Lovely! If a little close to the bone. 6 years here and turned out I never knew them at all and I did exactly the same thing, going through with a marriage I wasn't sure about just because of the time put in and it seemeds to be what the person wanted. Like your mc , lesson learned the hard way.\nGreat story!"", 'time': '08:19 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I’m happy you could relate to the story, but also sorry to hear that you could relate to it. We seem to justify continuing on a bad road, just because of how far we’ve already traveled.', 'time': '08:43 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""I know. It's daft. I mean if you were on a ship and you knew it was sinking and you came to a port and had a chance to get off but didn't because you'd already come so far on it.....huh?!?"", 'time': '08:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michelle Oliver': 'So true!', 'time': '14:56 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I’m happy you could relate to the story, but also sorry to hear that you could relate to it. We seem to justify continuing on a bad road, just because of how far we’ve already traveled.', 'time': '08:43 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I know. It's daft. I mean if you were on a ship and you knew it was sinking and you came to a port and had a chance to get off but didn't because you'd already come so far on it.....huh?!?"", 'time': '08:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michelle Oliver': 'So true!', 'time': '14:56 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I know. It's daft. I mean if you were on a ship and you knew it was sinking and you came to a port and had a chance to get off but didn't because you'd already come so far on it.....huh?!?"", 'time': '08:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'So true!', 'time': '14:56 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'So true!', 'time': '14:56 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': '""I need to talk to Vince..."" \n""Call him.""  \n""I don\'t have my phone.""\n...\n""I never said he was in the limo.""\n\nUnbelievable. I\'m glad I made time to come back and finish reading this.', 'time': '12:15 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'KG Green': 'Great story Michelle. Very captivating!', 'time': '18:59 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading.', 'time': '10:39 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading.', 'time': '10:39 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Angela Govender': 'This is a light-hearted and beautiful write. Well done, Michelle! The introduction was so captivating and I could never tell that the write would later on turn into a runaway tale. Yet, everything flowed so smoothly.', 'time': '15:15 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ben LeBlanc': 'Fast-paced, interesting story. Great characterization with a refreshingly smart twist at the end. Although the end was a bit sad--the man says to be brutally honest, but he seems like a very hard-hearted person. Should you take advice from someone like that? \n\nThere were some ""buts"" that seem out of place--(1) ""But why are we following that taxi"", and (2) ""But if you’re not honest with yourself, you will hurt everyone around you.” \n\nOverall, well done.', 'time': '20:15 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading Ben. I suppose they’re very colloquial ‘buts’. A speech pattern or quirk of the character, (definitely not laziness of the writer, haha)\nYes the man is a bit hard hearted, life has chewed him up and spat him out, but he was generous enough to allow his taxi to be hijacked.', 'time': '00:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading Ben. I suppose they’re very colloquial ‘buts’. A speech pattern or quirk of the character, (definitely not laziness of the writer, haha)\nYes the man is a bit hard hearted, life has chewed him up and spat him out, but he was generous enough to allow his taxi to be hijacked.', 'time': '00:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Stevie Burges': ""Thanks, Michelle.  I thought of the movie 'Sex and the City', as I was reading it but this had a great twist that I wasn't expecting."", 'time': '08:07 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '11:07 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '11:07 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Great twist. I didn't see that coming. Another great story."", 'time': '01:39 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '11:06 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '11:06 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'Really enjoyed this Michelle. I loved the way info about the not-to-be marriage and the failed marriage ran parallel the whole way through. Really merged the two perspectives smoothly.', 'time': '13:21 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it Chris. It was a bit of an experiment so I’m happy it worked.', 'time': '13:24 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it Chris. It was a bit of an experiment so I’m happy it worked.', 'time': '13:24 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,q0497d,Childhoods of Confinement,Keelan LaForge,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q0497d/,/short-story/q0497d/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Kids']",24 likes,"
“We’re locked in,” said Karen, sullenly.
“What’s new?” asked Phil, picking at the bobbles on the fabric of the seat. It'd had a speckled texture to it when it was new, but it hadn’t aged well.
“Something exciting might happen, you never know.”
 “Does anything exciting ever happen?”
Karen peered out the window. There was no one around them, except a few vacant cars with no other passengers locked in the back seats. Driving to the pub wasn’t unusual then, neither was driving home. 
“What do they do in there for so long?” Karen asked. 
“Drink themselves silly and talk about everything we aren’t allowed to hear.” 
Karen picked up her battered comic. She’d been reading the same one for several months and the print was starting to fade in places, but she knew it off by heart anyway. Her comics were her best friends. Despite the fact that she and her brother were stuck in the same confinement, they were enemies more often than they were friends. 
She felt her tummy rumble and wondered what time dinner would be on the table at that day. They’d been promised a trip to the beach that weekend, but Dad had had a rough week in work, so here they were, at his usual resting place. 
They’d come to loathe the look of The Winfield pub. It was in one of those old red brick buildings with a wooden sign – one that had never been changed and the letters were fading away. It didn’t need to be labelled; the regulars knew where they were going, drunk or sober. There wasn’t much happening in that area: no kids, no life, just a lone pub. Now and again, they’d see an old drunk stumble out of it and make their weary way down the road. Their minds would make up stories about the person, like minds tend to do in their deepest state of boredom. Unremarkable people suddenly became interesting characters in their mind’s creations. 
Philip held onto his tin car. He drove it over his knee and up the back of the empty driver’s seat. He drove it across the window, weaving around the waterdrops that fell every day in Belfast; at least, it felt like they did. It was a suitable accompaniment to the mood of their lives. Everything was grey, dreary and uninspiring. It felt like they would never escape their imprisonment in that cell of a car. If it wasn’t the car, it was their bedroom. Most of the time, they just went back and forth between the two places. The most excitement they got was whenever the neighbourhood kids got together in the street and made a rope swing on the lamppost. That kept them busy for hours. They were very civilised about it, taking it in turns and waiting patiently. Time was meaningless in days as lengthy as that and none of them were spoilt. Nobody could afford to spoil their kids – at least not anybody that they knew personally. 
Karen traced her finger around the raindrops on the window, making pictures with her imagination. She chased a few with her index finger as they slid down the glass, meeting them at the end of their path. 
“What time do you think they’ll come out at today?”
 “What’s the point in asking me that? If you count every second it’ll feel like forever.”
He was getting irritable with her. She could sense it like hounds hear change in the air. He reminded her of her dad when he got like that: short-tempered and snappy. Everyone deals with stress differently. Karen buried her head in her magazine again, getting lost in the safe worlds of her favourite cartoons. She often wished she could climb inside the pages and stay tucked in there, becoming part of a better story. The kids in her comics had a voice. They got to be cheeky to adults and push the boundaries. She’d never dared do that. Even when she was faultlessly polite and respectful, she still always ended up in trouble. 
It was the era of “children should be seen and not heard,” and making any sort of fuss only attracted unpleasant attention. She willed her parents to come back, but simultaneously, treasured the peace while it lasted. Either way, she felt unbalanced, like something dangerous could happen at any moment. 
The pub door opened. It stayed open for a minute without exposing the person behind it. They sat, feeling anxious and hopeful, mixed together in one big ball they carried in their little stomachs. That ball was always there and they never got a chance to forget it, unless they got lost in a child’s game to the point that they forgot reality. Karen and Philip had more in common than they knew how to express. They were too young and emotionally ill-equipped to express it, to learn that the other one was having the same waves of emotion at the same time. They weren’t alone, but they couldn’t have felt more alone, sitting side by side. Being unable to communicate with a sibling isn’t much different to being an only child. 
After their long moment of anticipation, a man appeared through the door. They knew him by face but not by name. He must have frequented the pub as much as their parents did. There were only ever locals at that time. Everyone stayed in their own pockets of Belfast, safe with what they knew. The Troubles were in full force, and everything was always tumultuous. You weren’t even safe in your home, never mind in the other side’s business or in their area. That added a thread of tension to everything. Even whenever things were settled at home, they were still anxious about the next thing that would kick off. Inside their small terrace, or outside in their carefully contained world – it was all equally stifling and terrifying. 
For five minutes, there was silence in the car and silence outside. Not a person passed. Not a single sound came from the roads. And then the blast came – the unfathomable blast that blew out the pub front. They couldn’t make sense of it. The shock kept them strapped in their seats, even without seatbelts. No one bothered with them then. Their parents were inside that building. Bad people or good, their guides in life were right at the heart of the blast.
 
 
","July 28, 2023 21:09","[[{'Nathaniel Miller': ""Nicely done, Keelan.\n\nI enjoyed the counterintuitive sense of loneliness you've created here. These two kids aren't alone, they shouldn't feel alone. And yet they do. You explain why quite nicely, in great detail. \n\nAlso, the foreshadowing in the beginning is excellent. It feels very childish of them, to dismiss any possibility of anything exciting ever happening. It's just a part of the gloominess of it all. But, then, something very exciting does happen, and it startles the reader just as much as it does the children. \n\nAnyways, I enjoyed ..."", 'time': '14:17 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Nathaniel, I really appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed reading it.', 'time': '14:08 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Nathaniel, I really appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed reading it.', 'time': '14:08 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': ""Keelan you have managed to connect the political reality of Belfast with your beautiful tale. I really liked the dialogue 'become part of a better story'. The characters play their parts well and the emotional content is overwhelming at times. Well done!"", 'time': '10:40 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thank you Shahzad. I appreciate you taking the time to read it and leave feedback :)', 'time': '14:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thank you Shahzad. I appreciate you taking the time to read it and leave feedback :)', 'time': '14:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kay Smith': 'Powerful story! Great character development... I could feel that sense of bored neglect. And then.... Explosive ending! Fantastic job!', 'time': '15:25 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thank you so much Kay. I’m glad you enjoyed reading it.', 'time': '14:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thank you so much Kay. I’m glad you enjoyed reading it.', 'time': '14:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Hi Keelan\n\nYour story started off innocently enough with two siblings feeling isolated and expressing tension in their different ways while waiting in the car. There was a good build-up of tension, then literally a shocking and powerful explosion at the end. Unexpected and powerful. A world of sadness and pain there which was unlikely to ease up. Well written.', 'time': '13:05 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thank you Helen, I’m glad you found it powerful even though it is quite dark lol. Thanks for taking the time to read it and to leave me feedback.', 'time': '08:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thank you Helen, I’m glad you found it powerful even though it is quite dark lol. Thanks for taking the time to read it and to leave me feedback.', 'time': '08:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Harp': 'I love a dark ending!', 'time': '01:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thanks Martin, I’m glad you appreciate it!', 'time': '08:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw thanks Martin, I’m glad you appreciate it!', 'time': '08:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""An interesting take on the prompt. We are left wondering who the brother and sister survive after that. Hopefully brought together, but no doubt damaged.\n\nI don't think I'll ever forget seeing the Lee Factory bombing in Derry, my sister worked nearby and me ma sent me on my BMX to find out what was going on. Different times. Thankfully behind us, even if some ejjits try there best to drag us back.\n\nGreat entry as always Keelan, best of luck this week."", 'time': '17:33 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'A strong sinking feeling as that story entered the final stages. Induced real dread out of no way. Really impressive as I think it was quite short. Enjoyed it. Nice job', 'time': '14:39 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': ""Thanks Chris. I think that was what I was trying to achieve :) I'm glad you enjoyed it and thanks for taking the time to read and leave a comment."", 'time': '20:12 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': ""Thanks Chris. I think that was what I was trying to achieve :) I'm glad you enjoyed it and thanks for taking the time to read and leave a comment."", 'time': '20:12 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow. A reference to The Troubles. That's a new one on this site.\n\nAll religious conflicts cause massive casualties and countless tragedies. It was no different in Northern Ireland. The veritable civil war claimed a lot of lives and a lot of innocence. \n\nQuite a dark tale, Keelan, and one that speaks of man's inhumanity to man. Nicely done, my friend. Nicely done indeed.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow. A reference to The Troubles. That's a new one on this site.\n\nAll religious conflicts cause massive casualties and countless tragedies. It was no different in Northern Ireland. The veritable civil war claimed a lot of lives and a lot of innocence. \n\nQuite a dark tale, Keelan, and one that speaks of man's inhumanity to man. Nicely done, my friend. Nicely done indeed.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Delbert, it ended up being darker than I planned too! It’s the first time I’ve written about the Troubles even though I’m from Belfast and its appearance surprised me too!', 'time': '20:30 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Delbert, it ended up being darker than I planned too! It’s the first time I’ve written about the Troubles even though I’m from Belfast and its appearance surprised me too!', 'time': '20:30 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Whoa, Keelan, way to turn a seemingly innocent family problem into a world event. Tragic for all involved.', 'time': '21:27 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Mary! It didn’t start off that way but sometimes it just ends up going in its own direction!', 'time': '06:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Know what you mean', 'time': '14:15 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Mary! It didn’t start off that way but sometimes it just ends up going in its own direction!', 'time': '06:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Know what you mean', 'time': '14:15 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Know what you mean', 'time': '14:15 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,sww5bv,"So help me, I'm Yours",Tommy Goround,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sww5bv/,/short-story/sww5bv/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Romance']",22 likes,"
-1-Merryl Schenosi has a paper bag because she cares for the Earth. She’s on my porch in heels, a blue skirt that matches the blouse coat, a realtor’s badge near the place reserved for handkerchiefs. “It’s time to evacuate, Mr. Goround.” My realtor has come at 10:02 pm on a Sunday before the Dance of Cyclones, opening storm, 2023 because she cares. Someone gave her a copy of my car keys, or she must have broken into the dealership? Or we were lovers and I forgot.“Everything you ever needed is in the bag.” Alright. She can guide me. I am secretly a mamma’s boy or strongly attracted to statuesque people who need to only smile when they command. I have a dog. He is also a mamma’s boy. I slump into the rain and turn and see if my realtor will get my dog. She whistles hard. He comes. Seventeen birds that were flying to Argentina stop when Merryl Schenosi whistles. They hover over the driveway and wait for Merryl to say they are excused. She’s also my portfolio manager. Merryl pushes my head down so I can enter the car without spinal injury. She comes around and commands the St. Bernard's cousin dog to enter the plush cloth seats of the red Buick Regal. He’s a Bernese Mountain Dog but they haven’t made a movie about his breed so people call him Beethoven. He doesn’t like floods. He doesn’t like riding in the back of a car. Merryl gets into her oversized dominance vehicle, a 1998 Hummer , army surplus, with an electric engine that fires on a dedicated charger. It is the preferred vehicle of government invaders. It is the model that can take gunshots to the tires, reinflate itself, drive up a sixty degree wall and then roll over. It rolls over better than my pup.The Hummer is fire proof if you leave the five gallons of spare gasoline outside so that the open flame burns itself out. It has seen conflict in Iran, Iraq – I think Merryl sold a house to an Army General and got a solid. We live on the old Fort Ord and there are always some officer types that know things and can find things. The rain is pelting my midsize Buick and Caspian hides his jowls with paws over his eyes. Trees are flying into the air towards Kansas. The stop light has broken its neck and blinks on and off in a red light warning. The streets are bare. Where are the other survivors? The evacuees need to stay together. Except Merryl does a very irregular thing, she turns her Humvee to the ocean. Then she stops right in front of me and says through the wind: Pull over. Pull over. I do.The dog and I are veshed into the large military vehicle as Merryl’s skirt makes a flappy Come Hither sign in the wind. Her hair breaks its bun and she starts to resemble The Beast Master without all the muscles. We glide right down Lightfighter Drive. There’s an onramp to the freeway that forces a left at a ninety degree angle. Merryl doesn’t take the left. She drives right over the guard rails and follows the dunes to the sea. There are spotted plovers that are pecking their children. The Storm. The storm. The rehabilitation area, roped off by red rope and long stake poles that resemble mountain climbing equipment; doesn’t matter. I had not considered that a person could just push through. There’s the smaller hills of sand, a World War II bunker on the left. Someone left a twenty foot guard tower but no one is guarding. Merryl assaults the beach. Sure. I could have asked where we were going but I trust Merryl for some undefined reason. She drives right into the Pacific Ocean, and there’s no way we can just float with all the weight, the double inner tube tires, the fact that most of the cabin is empty. It looks pressurized. I see the mounting bolts where the military had a large machine gun on the roof but had to remove the guns for civilian use. The spots where the gun was hinged have been welded over. I laugh that it doesn’t leak as the water goes over our head. The waves go over our heads. The storm will pass over. Merryl turns on the radio but we are possibly just too low for the FM signal? I can’t say. She hits an antena button and there is a *pop* as an electronics buoy floats away. She tunes the radio till she hears the slow jazz. “That antena was a neat trick.” She knows. I am wondering if Merryl will tell me our plan. Is it top secret? Will we ride out the storm in the Humvee? Will we just sit there as nature washes over? Merryl unbuttons two buttons to her blouse and pushes the driver’s chair all the way back. Ok. That’s neat. She’s pushes her hair out so that it resembles a semi golden peacock in a mating spread. She kicks off her heels. She pets my dog and moans in a deep, cavernous , sound. If I stay completely still she might not bite. I can look outside the window to see if we are deep enough for fish to swim by. We are a bay known for sardines, octopai and tilapia. It is dark underwater now that Merryl has turned off the fog lights. We have only the dim mood pulse of the upgraded radio playing jazz. I turn to my Realtor/Wealth Manager/Rescuer and sigh. “I told you I was gay, right?” -2-I’m not really gay. I mean, I probably have the gay gene if that’s still a thing. But I tell people I am gay , A-sexual, whatever it takes to keep it professional. Merryl is not about to keep it professional. She has a throaty sigh as she springs up, grabs the back of my head and tries to put a long tongue down my throat. It is longer than Gene Simmons' tongue ever unrolled. Meryl inserts her tongue into my mouth like a New Year's party favor. “No, no…we can’t. I’m your customer!” There’s about forty-thousand pounds of seawater on top of us by now. People are dying in San Francisco and Sacramento. Not just the homeless but like people with wallets and stuff. They have trees that fall over and no one even checks them for gold in the roots.There’s no rubber boat in the back that I can see but there’s not time to look as she takes my ear and pinches it till I go limp, pushing me down, down to the area that moves the vehicle. One leg pushes and the other keeps it balanced. She turns up the Jazz and some goofball has a blanket over his 10"" raktom drum and is probably using a paintbrush on the cymbals. I hate jazz. Merryl smells like the bad parts of the ocean, and she’s got one of those Mai Kwan Thai elbow presses over my neck. It is called a submission hold if you wrap the neck. She’s not wrapping, just forcing. Naaaa naaaaaaa NO!It’s all I can scream when the air is out of my lungs. The sound of dog agitation. He’s trying to come around the chairs to get my back. An unfixed dog never gets your back. He’s a little too playful. Merryl is going to raise her toes to the ocean pagan gods because she thinks I have surrendered. (NOO).I flap the free hand around looking for a gear shift, any gear, reverse, I don’t care. Something clicks. I use my nose to give it a little fake out. I hate fish. And you need a fake out before shoving all your puny muscle and curb weight onto a leg. Evil giggle. She’s not even paying attention as the Humvee starts moving forward. I know there’s a mile deep tunnel down there somewhere where the Navy used to hide nuclear submarines and I don’t care. The magnificence of the Humvee means you don’t have to worry about a thirty foot high kelp forest. We used to be a quarter mile from the Costco when we hit the water. I’m betting we are somewhere near the place that Clint Eastwood used to be a lifeguard. I hear her shallow breath. Can feel the chest waiting to clear its love phlegm, the air that was brought into her body before she decided that it wasn’t free to ride. PUSH THAT LEG TO THE FLOOR.The aquatic Humvee, the steel creature below the breakers moves and gains speed, it disregards water pressure. How the hell are we even breathing without an oxygen cleansing machine? We get going some five or seven knots below the surface, some leagues beneath the sea. I don’t care how many times she pushes me down for seconds because I’m mad cackling…Badu-bing. Inflation!That’s right, all the fifteen airbags got taken at once. Driver, passenger, dog in the wrong place window sash. There was so much white dust that I could taste it without licking anything. “We better evacuate,” I mumbled. The clothing was in my mouth though she had released the neck. The balloon thing is like a heavy breast when the airbag deflates. I was captured by a punching parachute breast that could land a piece of metal on the moon. “Merryl?” Hmm, that's weird. Guess the airbag knocked her out for a sec. The jazz jockey was saying something about Thelonious Monk. I could not escape the grip when I wiggled and tried to rotate out. This was going to need a chiropractor. A very good chiropractor. Maybe some of those chinese needles so long as you find an honest practitioner that doesn’t make you wet the table. “Merryl? We done yet?” Man, that airbag punched her a good one. Some people can’t take a hit. Glass chin and all that. I tried to reverse hump my way out of that terrible position. I knew that homemade dirigables had a depth rating and there was no way a surplus, retrofitted, Humvee was going to make it thirty or forty feet below the sea. Besides, airbags dust kinda stinks. “Merryl?” Nada. Now I had to do something untoward to arouse my driver/realtor/wealth manager/facial rapist. I had to … um… I had to give her a titty twister. I’m not proud of this. I’m still probably gay. But I tell you, there’s nothing like giving a mature adult a titty twister. Totally different from when we were young. Yeah. She sprang up. Came right to her recognizance and looked around for a restroom. She coughed because it was hard to breathe. “Wanna let me up??”Stockholm Syndrome. I didn’t know how we were going to repay the trust that she had broken but I needed to get out of the ocean, out of her crotch, back to some place that had fresh air. Apparently, the oxygen scrubber had been working before the little bump into the underwater pier. She puts the Humvee into reverse. We slip. I’m still asking for her to get my head out from beneath the bubble, words like “Please?” She doesn't have time. She can barely see out the ocean water as she slightly turns to reverse. Spin spin. Nada nada. Merryl takes out a knife and says we are going to have to jump for it. She pops the airbag. I come up with a frozen jaw, the tongue is chapped, the neck is raw. It was actually one of the better dates that year. “Aiyyy"", Shake the jaw like a dog which is wet. Like a jowly dog with spittle going everywhere. “Whatcha mean?” Merryl points to the pier in the front. She says we can’t back up. She points at the sea that has no stars on the top. It’s kind of a sexy casket, minus the lady. “What do you want me to do?”She tells me to take off my clothes real quick, because she’s going to hand crank a window down as fast as possible. The clothing will take on water, drag me down. Hypothermia is real. Nah nah nah. I shake my head like people try to get me underwater in the Monterey storm of the century all the time. I use that long finger, the pointer finger, to excoriate the bad ideas. I've seen her soul now so I know how it works. She ignores me, puts on lipstick and says it is waterproof. “You know, in case…”What? “You know.” No. I don’t know Please tell me, “WHAT?” She struggles to resist explaining ""From Here to Eternity"" they came to Monterey and kissed in the sand until the waves rocked over their heads. Burt Lancaster held Deborah Karr with his big muscly arms. They became underwater-lovers together. The woman was serious. -3-“Look, I know you have my life insurance and you could just want me to go bye bye. But why don’t we think of a more practical result to get out of this coffin together? Yeah?” Merryl looked really sad then. She started to hiccup some emotion. It would have been a fine time to escape but I kinda took that promise seriously, “Til death us do part.” Sorry. I tried louder, “I’m sorry, alright? You know the age thing has messed me all up.""I looked at my darling Merryl and told her how beautiful she looked. She looked like the same nice girl that followed me out of Lyon’s in Modesto a thousand dates ago. She went right up to a stranger and said that she found him interesting. When the doctors removed some manhood after a little bout of cancer, she found me – less agitated. More docile.We didn't have to argue over the names of children.So we took to those bizarre fantasies of meeting at bars, pretending that we weren't always known and wanted by the other. In the hard times, job losses, that unsettling feeling of saying you failed. There were moments that your spouse becomes your Christ, in judging, infinitely accepting, and breaking you into a stubborn grin.Intimacy is the gold of nature. I just looked around at Meryl and said, ""Or we could stay.""""Here?""I grinned because our bodies would be found side by side. Everything dies by cellular suffocation. She just smiled cause the cancer came back. Cause Betty Davis and Jimmy Stewart did it right… in a car, with the garage door down. Together. We changed the radio to Bob FM and remembered the nineties. It would have been a gorgeous peaceful pass, belowThe Storm.At least the Coast Guard didn't find us naked.
","August 01, 2023 13:11","[[{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Stockholm syndrome is underrepresented in the romance genre.', 'time': '05:42 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""What a Long Strange Trip It's Been...\nLove the line ' Not just the homeless but like people with wallets and stuff.'\n\nthis is great- 'In the hard times, job losses, that unsettling feeling of saying you failed. There were moments that your spouse becomes your Christ, in judging, infinitely accepting, and breaking you into a stubborn grin.'\n\nspectacular"", 'time': '03:29 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': ""Mmm... My concern is that the opener was so goofy that the ending didn't hit ...\n\nI sure appreciate you noticing that part. The jimmy/Betty movie was very moving. They died together."", 'time': '08:23 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': ""Mmm... My concern is that the opener was so goofy that the ending didn't hit ...\n\nI sure appreciate you noticing that part. The jimmy/Betty movie was very moving. They died together."", 'time': '08:23 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Weird and funny, I thought they were escaping aliens, but now I see its the road trip prompt.', 'time': '08:49 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Held my interest with great ideas.', 'time': '15:31 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Still not quite sure what to make of your stories Tommy other than that they bend my mind in a good way. Completely bonkers! But told so well and they just evolve like dreams.', 'time': '08:29 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you for dreaming with me. I wanna be a real cow poker soon.', 'time': '12:17 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': 'You can mooooo it!!', 'time': '13:05 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you for dreaming with me. I wanna be a real cow poker soon.', 'time': '12:17 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'You can mooooo it!!', 'time': '13:05 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'You can mooooo it!!', 'time': '13:05 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Tommy,\n\nThis is great. Weird and fun and great. \n\nI have some line notes if you want them - if you don't then stop reading now!\n\nSomeone gave her a copy to (of) my car keys, or she must have broken into the dealership?\n\nI am secretly a mamma’s boy or strongly attracted to statuesque people that (who) need to only smile when they command.\n\nSeventeen birds that were flying to Argentina stop when Merryl Schenosi whistles. They hover over the driveway and wait for Merryl to say they are excused. She’s also my portfolio manager. - Brilliant!\n\n..."", 'time': '20:05 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you kindly. Think I got them all.', 'time': '16:29 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""Great - don't you go thinking that I overlooked your promise of a Starbucks coffee!!! Ha!"", 'time': '18:52 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you kindly. Think I got them all.', 'time': '16:29 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Great - don't you go thinking that I overlooked your promise of a Starbucks coffee!!! Ha!"", 'time': '18:52 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Great - don't you go thinking that I overlooked your promise of a Starbucks coffee!!! Ha!"", 'time': '18:52 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Fine work as usual.', 'time': '14:57 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you, Philip. :)', 'time': '14:33 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '08:32 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': 'Thank you, Philip. :)', 'time': '14:33 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '08:32 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '08:32 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Maddening. I just worry about your sanity sometimes. Where do these stories evolve from?😏😁😍', 'time': '15:47 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': 'This one?\n ""Hard Headed Woman"" by Cat Stevens, \nA beautiful girl that drove a muscle car in High School and couldn\'t get a date,\nMorrissey\nTesticular Venus flow\n""The Aphrodite Club"" letter to PH Magazine\nAnd watching Jimmy Stewart strap a hose to his car because he couldn\'t let his wife, Betty Davis, die alone. (_Right of Way_). \n\nWe had a storm hit this year and it turned our home into an island. Then the Readsy people asked for a car story. A hummer is a double entendre :)', 'time': '16:11 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Genius at work.', 'time': '16:31 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': 'This one?\n ""Hard Headed Woman"" by Cat Stevens, \nA beautiful girl that drove a muscle car in High School and couldn\'t get a date,\nMorrissey\nTesticular Venus flow\n""The Aphrodite Club"" letter to PH Magazine\nAnd watching Jimmy Stewart strap a hose to his car because he couldn\'t let his wife, Betty Davis, die alone. (_Right of Way_). \n\nWe had a storm hit this year and it turned our home into an island. Then the Readsy people asked for a car story. A hummer is a double entendre :)', 'time': '16:11 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Genius at work.', 'time': '16:31 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Genius at work.', 'time': '16:31 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,tne92s,Are We There Yet?,Mary Bendickson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tne92s/,/short-story/tne92s/,Dramatic,0,"['Happy', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Holiday']",22 likes,"
Are We There Yet?Caution: Not intended as a horror story though circumstances may be horrible.Circa: 1963Conveyance: Puke-green V-8 Oldsmobile sized more like yacht rather that roller coaster; built before seat belts were ever discovered or children's safety devices were devised. Still questionable whether it would hold all the proposed cargo.Occupants: 6 children ages 5-15 including two 'big girls',Thelma 'n Bette; Bruce, aka 'Bruiser', 'the little ones' Robert, aka 'Chopper' (something cute he said when he was two) and Debbie; plus one extremely intelligent and charming middle daughter, Mary, currently sporting snot-green glasses frames and swollen purple and yellow nose (refer to 'Public Speaking in Fuzzy Bedroom Slippers' Reedsy entry #205); one over-wrought Dad, aka 'Hon', more concerned with listening to his favorite baseball team, Cardinals, once again after living a year in Cubs Country; one much over-worked Mom, aka 'Dear', who spent three days packing every conceivable need for six kids and one sometimes grumpy husband for a six-hour trip and three day stay at Grandma's two-bedroom house. (No Micky-D's in every town, either.)Projectory: Southbound three hundred miles slicing through center of Illinois on US Route 51 before interstate system fully developed. Only one of former truck-driving Dad's many exploratory routes he chose to treat his family to during these horrendous trips over the years.“Mo-O-o-m, Bruce is kicking me again.”“Bruce, please don't pester your sister. We have a long way to go still and your dad can't concentrate on the road with you two fighting the whole way.”“But she isn't giving me any space.”“You've got the whole back window to stretch out and lie down in. I am squeezed between the big girls over the hump and all this stuff in the wells. I got no place else to move. Stop poking me!”“I want to sit up front between Mom and Dad.”“Well, you can't. Chopper is there and Debbie is on Mom's lap. Stop belly-aching.””Behave, Kids. Maybe we can make some readjustments next time we stop for gas. When do you think that will be, Hon?”“Considering we have only been on the road for fifty miles it will be a long time. Try not to kill each other back there, okay. Don't make me pull this car over. You'll be sorry.”“Can't we listen to the radio so we can sing along?”“No, Thelma, I am waiting for my Cardinal game to start.”“Why don't you play that traveling game you like so much, Mary. You know where everyone has to name what they are taking on the trip and add it to whatever everyone ahead of them said keeping it all alphabetically correct.”“Oh, we've done that so much and it can get boring. Anyway Chopper and Debbie are too young to keep up with it.”“Hey, that's right, Bette. And that sounds like Mom is trying to make it educational. We are supposed to be on vacation. I don't want to have anything to do with school. Yuck!”“Okay, Bruce, just for that remark you can make it an extra challenge by adding an adjective to the object that starts with the same letter.”“Yeah, Bruce, I dare you. Bet you can't remember everything.”“Well, I don't want to get stuck with the X. Who is gonna start?”“Bette, where do you think we should be traveling to?”“How about Grandma's house?”“And Thelma, what mode of transportation are we taking?”“How about a roller coaster.”“Now that sounds like fun and very similar to what we are doing. I'll start and we can only take animals, okay?”“Okay, Dad! Bette and I will help the little ones go as far as they can or want to go.”“I am going on a roller coaster ride to Grandma's house and am taking an ambitious armadillo. Dear, you're next.”“I am going on a roller coaster ride to Grandma's house and am taking a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Thelma help Debbie. Here, she's crawling over to sit on your lap.”“Say 'I am going on a roller coaster ride to Grandma's house'”“Going ta Grandma's on roller ride.”“And am taking a colorful camel...”“Colorful camel.”“Bashful buffalo...”“Bash buflo.”“And an ambitious armadillo.”“Ambi armado.”“Oh, this is gonna take a while.”“That's kind of the idea, Thelma. Bette, just have Chopper add a 'd' name and it can be your turn.”“Chopper, what do you think of a dotted Dalmatian? Say: Dotted Dalmatian, colorful camel, bashful buffalo and ambitious armadillo.””You say fer me.”“Okay. I am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and am taking an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Mary.”“I am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and I am taking a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Bruce.”""I am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and am taking a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Mom.”“Oh, boy, this is harder than I thought. I am going to Grandma's house on a roller coaster and I am taking a hump-backed horsefly, a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Hon, back to you.”“You expect me to remember all that and drive, too? I think it is all going to tumble off this old roller coaster ride. Who wants to add an ignorant iguana to the list for me?”“I will, I will.”“Thanks, Bruiser. Go for it.”""I am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and I am taking an ignorant iguana, a hump-backed horsefly, a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo, and an ambitious armadillo.""“Looks like Debbie is sleeping, Thelma, your turn.”“I am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and I am taking a juggling jaguar, an ignorant iguana, a hump-backed horsefly, a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo, and an ambitious armadillo. Bette and Chopper.”“We are going to Grandma's riding a roller coaster and taking a knitting koala, a juggling jaguar, an ignorant iguana, a humped-back whale, no wait, horsefly, a gigantic...a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and an ambitious armadillo. Mary.”“You almost messed up, there.”“Come on, I've got Chopper helping. What happens if someone messes up?”“Oh, I don't know. Maybe they have to finish the rest all by themselves?”“I hungy.”“How close are we to our usual road-side picnic table rest stop for peanut butter sandwiches, Hon?”“Oh, probably a couple more additions to the zoo we've been loading.”“Hurry, Mary.”“Give me a second, Bruce. Where were we?”“Knitting koala.”“Fine. I am headed to Grandma's on this wild roller coaster and am taking a loose-lipped llama, a knitting koala, a juggling jaguar, an ignorant iguana, a humped-back horsefly, a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo and that ambitious armadillo that started it all.”“Good. I am going to Grandma's on the family roller coaster and I am taking a masquerading monkey, a loose-lipped llama, a knitting koala, a juggling jaguar, an ignorant iguana, a humped-back horsefly, a gigantic gerbil, a ferocious ferret, an epileptic elephant, a dotted Dalmatian, a colorful camel, a bashful buffalo, and an ambitious armadillo. There! Mom.”“Well, I only have one question.”“What is it, Dear.”“Are we there yet?”
","August 03, 2023 16:10","[[{'Chris Campbell': 'Yeah, the horror of bored kids.  🤣\nI found myself trying to complete the song. Got up to ""Yellow Yak"" and quit.\nGreat memory game.', 'time': '03:18 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I should research an x solution but z could be zany zebra. What was your q? Anyone else want to play?', 'time': '04:22 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Chris Campbell': 'A Quirky Quokka. Very cute Aussie animal.\nhttps://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Australian+Quokka&mmreqh=Tpx5PkCWKXeCyAYqlbwivb%2bIPrCHQwqKlh1r9mA3iSE%3d&form=IDINTS&first=1', 'time': '04:26 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Very cute.', 'time': '04:39 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I should research an x solution but z could be zany zebra. What was your q? Anyone else want to play?', 'time': '04:22 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'A Quirky Quokka. Very cute Aussie animal.\nhttps://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Australian+Quokka&mmreqh=Tpx5PkCWKXeCyAYqlbwivb%2bIPrCHQwqKlh1r9mA3iSE%3d&form=IDINTS&first=1', 'time': '04:26 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Very cute.', 'time': '04:39 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'A Quirky Quokka. Very cute Aussie animal.\nhttps://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Australian+Quokka&mmreqh=Tpx5PkCWKXeCyAYqlbwivb%2bIPrCHQwqKlh1r9mA3iSE%3d&form=IDINTS&first=1', 'time': '04:26 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Very cute.', 'time': '04:39 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Very cute.', 'time': '04:39 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Mary,\nI admit I was a big nervous reading your content warning, but was left pleasantly surprised. It was always just my sister and I so our car remained mostly quiet-especially with the advent of portable dvd players. Nice work on this one!!', 'time': '23:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Glad you liked the trip.', 'time': '23:21 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Glad you liked the trip.', 'time': '23:21 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""I remember going on Holiday with kids in the car. One in between Mum and Dad, three in the middle and one lying down with all the luggage in the back of the station wagon. (we took turns at that) You'd never get away with it now-a-days. We yelled out car names, counted their colors that we had chosen, played 'I Spy', Another game included inventing tongue twisters and saying them correctly for as long as we could. Another game we challenged each other to come up with a particular number of whatever. For examples, names of six animals, names ..."", 'time': '04:43 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'A lot of suffering but no loss of life. Thanks for liking and sharing your fun', 'time': '06:06 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'A lot of suffering but no loss of life. Thanks for liking and sharing your fun', 'time': '06:06 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Arthur McNamee': 'This is classic Americana at its best. I love the setting and the banter between family members. Great story and it reminded me of my youth. Thanks.', 'time': '21:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'So far has struck a cord with many. Thanks 🙏 for liking it.', 'time': '23:18 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'So far has struck a cord with many. Thanks 🙏 for liking it.', 'time': '23:18 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hey, you were eavesdropping on my family station wagon vacations when I was a kid!  Only thing you missed was when I lost my pet shop turtle and forced  us to stop until we could locate Samson.   Oh yeah, course now I'm the mom so horrors, indeed.  (Did I mentioned how often I was car sick?)\n\nIn a word, Mary: Wonderful, I loved it!"", 'time': '15:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Glad it brought back pleasant memories. With me, the one who loved to read, I can't to this day read while riding in a car without feeling sick.🤢"", 'time': '15:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Susan Catucci': 'Sister!  Pass the barf bag.', 'time': '16:34 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Glad it brought back pleasant memories. With me, the one who loved to read, I can't to this day read while riding in a car without feeling sick.🤢"", 'time': '15:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'Sister!  Pass the barf bag.', 'time': '16:34 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Sister!  Pass the barf bag.', 'time': '16:34 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gavin Matthew': 'An enjoyable short that definitely played to my nostalgia with the game. It was a fun read!', 'time': '00:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'John Werner': 'Brought me back to our old Country Squire station wagon. Very nostalgic.', 'time': '16:12 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Yep, we eventually got a station wagon but couldn't forget those back window and down in the wells choice spots.😱\nThanks for liking the ride."", 'time': '16:49 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Yep, we eventually got a station wagon but couldn't forget those back window and down in the wells choice spots.😱\nThanks for liking the ride."", 'time': '16:49 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Aeris Walker': 'My family would travel in our old van with a cooler shoved between the two front seats and an old blocky VHS tv balanced on top of it. Whenever we took off too fast, it would slide back and hit whoever was sitting in the middle…very safe haha…\nI enjoyed your story (as well as the reference to the public speaking story!) This was a fun read and relatable for anyone who’s had to endure long car rides, no matter what generation they’re from. The cars might get more comfortable, but being stuck in one with your whole family forever will try anyo...', 'time': '11:48 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thanks glad you enjoyed the ride.', 'time': '13:33 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thanks glad you enjoyed the ride.', 'time': '13:33 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ela Mikh': 'Love the unusual structure of the story, reads like a play, and you can practically see them all and their characters! Really enjoyed it, remind me of the road trips with my kids when they were little and I was ready to pull my hair out', 'time': '05:18 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""That's the logical atmosphere I was going for and I think I made my parents more patient than they actually were.\nThanks for liking it."", 'time': '10:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""That's the logical atmosphere I was going for and I think I made my parents more patient than they actually were.\nThanks for liking it."", 'time': '10:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Growing up the oldest of four and the only girl, road trips were brutal. I wish our parents were as patient with us as your characters. Totally relatable !', 'time': '18:33 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Oh, this brought back some memories! Five kids, parents and a 1980s ford escort, me being the youngest had to sit on a cushion on the handbrake, there really wasn't much safety concerns back then. Our game used to be my mother would call out a colour of a car and whoever spotted five first got 50p ha. Fun, cramped, hot, times!\n\nNice entry Mary.\n\nYou are missing the inverted commas on two sentences: \n\nI am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and am taking a gigantic gerbil...\n\nAnd\n\nI am going to Grandma's on a roller coaster and I am takin..."", 'time': '09:17 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thanks for the like and the catches. How many times did I look and not see?\nGlad it brought back memories. An Escort sounds worse than what we had.', 'time': '10:55 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'It was quite a squash! One time we got lost down the south of Ireland when on holiday, no gps, no maps, country roads and the heavens had opened to wash the countryside making it almost impossible to see the road ahead. So Da had little choice but to find a safe spot to park and we settled in for the night. It was horrible, yet my most vivid holiday memory ha.', 'time': '11:07 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'How could you not remember that!', 'time': '13:43 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thanks for the like and the catches. How many times did I look and not see?\nGlad it brought back memories. An Escort sounds worse than what we had.', 'time': '10:55 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'It was quite a squash! One time we got lost down the south of Ireland when on holiday, no gps, no maps, country roads and the heavens had opened to wash the countryside making it almost impossible to see the road ahead. So Da had little choice but to find a safe spot to park and we settled in for the night. It was horrible, yet my most vivid holiday memory ha.', 'time': '11:07 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'How could you not remember that!', 'time': '13:43 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'It was quite a squash! One time we got lost down the south of Ireland when on holiday, no gps, no maps, country roads and the heavens had opened to wash the countryside making it almost impossible to see the road ahead. So Da had little choice but to find a safe spot to park and we settled in for the night. It was horrible, yet my most vivid holiday memory ha.', 'time': '11:07 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'How could you not remember that!', 'time': '13:43 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'How could you not remember that!', 'time': '13:43 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'A super sweet story, but hiding the hell of the actual experience. There were only two of us in the back of the car, and that was enough!\n\nThanks for sharing, Mary.', 'time': '23:37 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'So the horror did show through? Thanks for liking and commenting.', 'time': '23:53 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Chris Miller': 'Oh yeah. Hundreds of hot, car-sick miles next to a barely tolerable sibling. The horror...', 'time': '00:12 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'So the horror did show through? Thanks for liking and commenting.', 'time': '23:53 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Oh yeah. Hundreds of hot, car-sick miles next to a barely tolerable sibling. The horror...', 'time': '00:12 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Oh yeah. Hundreds of hot, car-sick miles next to a barely tolerable sibling. The horror...', 'time': '00:12 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Used to play this game with my daughter while cycling to school with her in the seat attached to the bike of the bike. Fond memories indeed\nThanks Mary.', 'time': '22:01 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Those were the days...Glad it brought back great memories. Thanks for liking.', 'time': '22:44 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Those were the days...Glad it brought back great memories. Thanks for liking.', 'time': '22:44 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,h17bpn,Let's Play a Game...,Kendall Defoe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/h17bpn/,/short-story/h17bpn/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Funny', 'Fiction']",21 likes,"
“Okay, we still have a ways to go… Wanna play a game?
“Okay, let’s play, ‘I spy with my little eye…something that begins with the letter…’ Anyone?
“Let’s start with L. Right, let’s see… Laptop – put that away, Billy; you got a phone. Laura, my amazing daughter…now scowling. Lilac air freshener. The love of my life…
“So, what about another letter?
“Anyone?
“Okay, a different game. Maybe we should do a new one called ‘Review’. Ever heard of it?
“Of course I just made it up. So let me explain the rules: each one of us is going to talk about what happened in the last twenty-four hours. If the stories we have do not match up or seem like they could not have happened, one of the other people in the car can challenge the story and jump in with the truth. Sounds like fun?
“Who wants to go first? 
“Anyone?
“Okay, I’ll get the ball started. Kinda boring just driving in the car with the radio off…I mean, not working anymore, so I will talk first. Remember: you can jump in with the truth if you think I missed something, or just did not mention a key point. So, you all ready? 
“Okay…Let’s see… We left the hotel around 6 am and got a big head start on the rest of our…
“Yes, I am gonna get to that, Billy. Obviously, everyone in the car is thinking of that. 
“Yes, Laura, your mom knows all about this. But we should hear all sides, right? Everyone has an opinion and an excuse…
“So, bright and early, 6 am, in the car. I have all of the bags ready and am waiting in the hallway when some people come out of a room down the hall. Now, it looks like they don’t want anyone to notice them, but I can see…
“Yes, Billy. I should have minded my own business. Little too late for that now, right. So, I can see that they have their bags out, maybe – maybe – they want to be left alone, but I am a gentleman, right? Everyone agree on that? I did not want to let them hand their stuff alone like that. The woman…
“Laura, I would have helped her no matter what she looked like. A woman standing in a hallway with a pile of luggage and no one around to help her…
“I am keeping my eyes on the road. Got no choice.
“So, I go over and ask if she was okay with all of that. She sees that I am alone in the hallway – see, you did not know this part – and looks me over to wonder what she should say next. All I heard was, ‘You should go back to your room, sir.’
“Right, that was a sign, Billy. Dumb dad didn’t get it. But like I said, too late…
“Honey, I can see the next exit. Don’t worry.
“So, I decided to ask why, and then another guy comes out of the room. I noticed how they looked like twins and this guy was all grunts and bad cologne as he got up in my face and used some pretty ugly language when asking who I was. The woman tried to stand between us, but he was already in my face. I explained that we had checked out and I was asking…
“No, I did not hit him. I’m not that tough. He just…
“Can I go on with this while we still have time?
“Great.
“So, he is looking me over, the woman too, and then my beautiful and courageous better half is already speed-walking down the hallway to find out what was going on. Think that’s why nothing happened…at first. I turned when I heard you calling, dear, and then I felt myself make contact with that ape in black. And then he fell.
“No, I did not mean to do it. Laura, your dad is many things, but definitely not suicidal or interested in throwing hands early in the morning in a hotel…motel… I just turned too quickly – so did he – to see my beloved coming down the hall, and the man somehow ended up on the floor.
“Yes, Billy, I know you heard it. The whole floor must have heard it. That woman… Why’d she have to go screaming her head off like that? Her…well, let’s call it ‘husband’, wasn’t hurt or anything. Just embarrassed to be stumbling over some suitcases and a gym bag on the floor. No one was going to take a thing…
“See, exit. I can still drive after all this.
“Now, this is where I expect you all to have your own versions of the story. Your mother says that I ran – ran – back to the room to get you all up and ready for the trip. I say I walked and that you guys were already up and had things packed. Someone – Billy – complained about not having breakfast, but your beautiful mother decided to skip it and asked us to ‘haul ass to the car!’ Rather colorful for a Sunday, I think…
“Oh, Billy… Don’t say that about your mother. The woman raised you; she raised your sister; she married me. Don’t you think she deserves a little bit more from us than your complaining? Don’t you think that we all have secrets?
“Yes, Laura, I agree. If she had told us more about why she wanted us to visit that hotel for that particular night, things might have been a little different for us now, but that’s a done deal. We just have to settle things as they are. Just as my beautiful wife wants them to…
“Ah, law enforcement! That’s another ‘L’!. Not one of you could think of that one until they passed us, right? Quite a mess at the hotel and no one to suspect a thing about it if we stay on these side roads and keep quiet. No one to say a thing to us if you…
“Yes, I’ll keep driving, my dear. You don’t have to remind us of what you did, or why you brought the gun. We understand.
“Guess I win…?
“Ha, ha.”
","August 04, 2023 23:28","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent, very good imagination. I really got into his one-way conversation, that was cool. Great work, Kendall.', 'time': '00:05 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you, sir. I think the less-is-more school of writing just works better for me. ;)', 'time': '00:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you, sir. I think the less-is-more school of writing just works better for me. ;)', 'time': '00:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Rama': 'Very inventive! I love how you put the story in a story, very cool. The dialogue at the beginning was funny, and was a very good hook. Amazing job, keep writing!', 'time': '14:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': ""I always prefer the ''less-is-more'' type of writing. May have to expand beyond this, but I appreciate your comments. ;)"", 'time': '23:58 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Rama': ""Of course! I can't wait to read your other works :) \nAlso if you wouldn't mind, I would love your feedback on my latest story. It's just so hard to get exposure when it's only on your profile :/"", 'time': '00:14 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': ""I always prefer the ''less-is-more'' type of writing. May have to expand beyond this, but I appreciate your comments. ;)"", 'time': '23:58 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Rama': ""Of course! I can't wait to read your other works :) \nAlso if you wouldn't mind, I would love your feedback on my latest story. It's just so hard to get exposure when it's only on your profile :/"", 'time': '00:14 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Rama': ""Of course! I can't wait to read your other works :) \nAlso if you wouldn't mind, I would love your feedback on my latest story. It's just so hard to get exposure when it's only on your profile :/"", 'time': '00:14 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': 'This story is a great example of why the writers at Netflix and HBO will not replace the riders of literature anytime soon. This is fantastic. Clapping', 'time': '23:44 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'I may have to give my agent a call. Many thanks!\nConsidering... ;)', 'time': '23:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'I may have to give my agent a call. Many thanks!\nConsidering... ;)', 'time': '23:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Funny and clever and unique, Kendall. This is a family I want to know, but I'm a little too afraid of them! LOL\n\nNicely done, my friend. Wonderful piece.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '11:06 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': ""Great story Kendall. Your skills are golden. Don't stop. \nThe story was so good. A story within a story. Not easy to do but you managed it. Absolutely fab! LF6"", 'time': '20:16 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thanks. I often wonder if I will ever get any traction for my work, and I appreciate your comments!', 'time': '04:12 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thanks. I often wonder if I will ever get any traction for my work, and I appreciate your comments!', 'time': '04:12 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Benefit of hindsight.', 'time': '20:05 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Always 50-50?', 'time': '22:47 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Always 50-50?', 'time': '22:47 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very inventive! The one side of the conversation thing keeps the reader on their toes . Also provides plenty of opportunity to fill in the blanks and draw our own conclusions. Smartly executed.', 'time': '10:38 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thanks. I wondered if people would be able to see what was going on here... ;)', 'time': '22:48 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thanks. I wondered if people would be able to see what was going on here... ;)', 'time': '22:48 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,0payt6,The Champion,Frances Gaudiano,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0payt6/,/short-story/0payt6/,Dramatic,0,['Contemporary'],21 likes,"
The Champion
 
It was a small car but I was a small person, fitting between the cooler box and the window. If I was quiet, they would forget I was there and I could lay my forehead against the cool glass and watch the country flash by me. 
 
I was their star gymnast and they were taking me around the country to various summer training camps. It was a privilege, setting me apart and making me an object of jealousy for the other girls on my team. It didn’t matter. I had never socialized with the team much anyway. I couldn’t go out for a burger after practice (too fattening) didn’t go shopping with them at weekends (extra training sessions) and didn’t share their interest in boys (too distracting). My life was training, school work and sleep. There wasn’t time for anything else if you hope to be a champion. 
 
They were talking about me again. There would always be a pause in their conversation and then they would reanimate, but in hushed voices, thinking I couldn’t hear them. But I heard every word. 
 
“Her run up to the vault is too slow. I told you to make her wear the ankle weights a few more weeks.”
 
“Definitely holding back today. I can’t understand why she’s still afraid of that move. She broke her arm over a year ago.”
 
“I think she’s put on some weight. I’ll keep on eye on her when she is eating her dinner tonight.”
 
It made me feel special when they talked about me. It reassured me that I was important to them and truly, I was important to them. If I won a few more titles, it would rocket them from small town coaches of minor talent to the elite level. I was their ticket to success. I just had to be perfect and then everything would be perfect for them. 
 
And I did want everything to be perfect for them. They gave me so much time and attention, something I never got at home. My mother was never feeling well and my dad, well let’s just say I didn’t see him very often. My coaches though, they had gotten me a full scholarship at the gym so my mother didn’t have to worry about the cost of all the hours of coaching. They had even found me a sponsor to pay for my leotards and travelling expenses. I was given what I needed in order to do the best job possible. It was a simple equation. 
 
“Could you hand me a soda from the cooler?” one of my coaches asked. I handed her a coke, eyeing the bright red tin and wondering what it tasted like. I had never had a cola – too much sugar. “You can have a water if you want.” I didn’t want any water. Then I would need to pee and I hated asking them to stop just for me.  I glanced out the window. It didn’t look like there were any service stations for miles. I was a bit uncomfortable but I could deal with that. I crossed my legs tightly and tried counting every blue car that I saw. 
 
I wondered what the next gym would be like. Sometimes we were housed in a dormitory and sometimes at an extra room in someone’s house. I preferred the dorms because I could have my own room, although they checked that I went to bed on time and I was safely locked in to prevent curfew breaks – as if I would do anything that would affect my performance in the gym the next day. I knew rest was essential. 
 
In homes, I had to have a cot bed in the same room where they slept together. It made me feel like curling up in a ball so that I wouldn’t take up too much of their space. I tried to make my breathing inaudible but then it seemed as if they were listening out for me so I tried to make my breathing loud and regular, feigning sleep.  I knew I was intruding on their private time together and would be anywhere else if I could be. 
 
The gyms were where I felt at home – the long tracts of mats, the deep foam pits, rows of beams and bars. Some floors were better than others. Some vaulting boards less springy, but always the equipment felt like old friends. I could focus on each miniscule detail of my routines. Nothing else in the world mattered. I could block out the pain of shin splints, torn palms, bruises, hunger and just move. No thinking, no feeling, just moving. It was heaven. 
 
In the gym, I was their centre of attention and they spoke to me, not about me and there I deserved their notice. Out of the gym, I had no real purpose. It was best to keep my mouth shut, to be invisible. Out of the gym, I wasn’t earning my way. 
 
They must have thought I slept in the car, the things I heard. 
 
“After we put her in the dorm, do you want to go out for a decent meal? A big steak and fries?”
 
“Do you think she heard us having sex last night? Not that she would know what we were doing! I don’t think I can bear another night with her in our room. It’s such a pain.” 
 
“Do you think her mother will still be alive when we get back from the tour? She told us on the phone that the chemo wasn’t working.” 
 
“How can she not even realise her mother is dying? I guess that’s athletes for you – totally focussed on themselves.” 
 
I was very good at crying silently. I had a lot of practice. But when I wiped my nose, it left marks on the new white track suit. I hoped they wouldn’t notice. 
I looked out the window again. We were passing a stockyard. The cattle were crowded together, being fattened for slaughter. Poor things. They had no control over their lives.
","July 28, 2023 18:22","[[{'Kay Smith': ""Where to even begin... Wow! You can feel this girl just making herself more and more tiny with every word. She had never tasted a soda pop but had the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. \nAdults never think children can hear them - They hear every word and the tone of those words. \nHer weight, her sleep, her everything - controlled by these people she's so grateful to please.\nI just want to take her out for a hamburger and fries!\nBut her strength, on the mats, in the car, making herself more and more tiny, giving up water so she won't..."", 'time': '15:39 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Frances Gaudiano': 'thank you!', 'time': '19:23 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Frances Gaudiano': 'thank you!', 'time': '19:23 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': 'The feelings of sadness, attachment issues and being misunderstood of the central character were so strong from start to end. You successfully coney emotions, and although the story goes by fast, it is intense!', 'time': '14:06 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Rama': ""This was such an incredible story! The intense sadness throughout the story kept me reading until the very end. I was surprised by how short it was-it went by so fast! Amazing job Frances! \nAlso, if you wouldn't mind checking out my latest story, I would really appreciate your feedback! :)"", 'time': '16:10 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Harp': 'Damn the whole time I just felt so bad for her! I really enjoyed the ending line of \n\n""Poor things. They had no control over their lives.""\n\nIn a very similar way, she too has zero control over her life and lives simply to please others.', 'time': '01:49 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Such foreboding sadness and no seems to recognise their parts. The girls seems so conditioned it was uncomfortable- in the best possible way. Very well executed Frances.', 'time': '16:20 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Frances Gaudiano': ""Thank you - it's a sport I know too well."", 'time': '19:10 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Frances Gaudiano': ""Thank you - it's a sport I know too well."", 'time': '19:10 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Told so much in so few words. Excellent.', 'time': '20:27 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Frances Gaudiano': 'Thank you.', 'time': '19:09 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Frances Gaudiano': 'Thank you.', 'time': '19:09 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,cau2z4,Dinner and a Movie,Steven Smith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cau2z4/,/short-story/cau2z4/,Dramatic,0,"['American', 'Coming of Age', 'Funny']",21 likes,"
	In the back seat of our cherry red Impala, my sisters and I fought for elbow room as we tooled up Ina Court. I took in the smells of the car from the center seat, the stream of fresh air slipping over the cracked windows, the plastic seat coverings and grease from door hinges, my father’s aftershave, and my sisters’ innocent scents from the woods and fresh soap. We were off to eat at a restaurant.
	My father cruised through the intersection of Waterloo Road and Arlington Street and came to a pronounced stop in the restaurant parking lot. As I gawked at the outline of the giant Arby’s hat in flashing orange neon, my mother complained at the expense of roast beef, how a hamburger down the street cost twenty-five cents, and the gall of these Arby’s fellows charging three times that for a sandwich.
	Inside the store, we children stood a polite distance from the counter, mesmerized by the central image, a brusque woman with large European lips in a white paper hat. With great speed, she spread something called Secret Red Sauce over each handful of roasted beef, the finished sandwich wrapped in foil and tossed into brown paper bags. Out in the car, each of us was handed a sandwich, no splitters. The tangy sauce tasted sharp against the buttery rich meat. I should tell you this was living the life of Reilly. Having dinner in the backseat of my father’s automobile marked a pinnacle in innovation beyond my expectations—food in a car! I chewed and garbled the question whether Batman and Robin ate sandwiches from Arby’s in the Batmobile, but only my sisters’ smacking lips answered.
	Such bourgeois advantages as eating roast beef in a backseat spilled over the next summer. One evening it was announced we would be allowed to stay up past nine o’clock to see a movie—not some grainy Western broadcast through the aluminum foil of our television’s antenna or even a feature film at the Lynn Cinema on Waterloo Road. This was the real McCoy, Tinseltown in a car, the drive-in theater.
	Earlier in the evening, we had been given the peculiar order to dress in pajamas, slick down our hair, and be ready to leave at the top of the hour. Gathering at the door, we were herded outside. The eccentricity of walking through the neighborhood in bedclothes and tennis shoes seemed freakish. My steps toward the car seemed like Neil Armstrong’s moon walk. Chad Hay trotted by, his forehead moist from taking turns at the slide. He looked puzzled. “You guys going to the hospital?”
	I caught myself bunching closer to my sisters, a tangle of embarrassment between us. “Naw,” I said, looking down at my cowboy-print bottoms, wanting to tell Chad to mind his own business. The family kept moving toward the parking lot, leaving Chad standing near the telephone pole with the same lost mien. Piling into the new station wagon my father had recently purchased, none of us seemed certain how, once the backseat was folded forward, we would jockey for a prime seat. Our father continued bragging to anyone listening that he had purchased the car in a deal, and what a deal. My mother shushed him, but I could see pride in his eyes darting about the rearview mirror.
	Mostly anxious energy to experience a drive-in movie filled the car. Its motor fired up without hesitation, each of us settled back, and the family was off in a breeze of buttered popcorn that my mother had stowed up front. Riding through the city of Akron brought to mind a limited atlas, where bits of avenues and recognizable stores along certain streets cobbled together. The rest was left to a mysterious sense of navigation possessed solely by my father, or any other adult who seemed certain behind the wheel.
	The family around me, it struck me, was high and mighty, on the fly. Nobody was telling us where to go. An older gentlemen in a big blue Cadillac pulled alongside us at a traffic light and grinned. The light changed and we sailed off along Wilbeth Road, finally taking a left onto Manchester that headed us toward the drive-in. My dad steered us into a gas station, where a man in a white jumpsuit and cap pumped the tank full of Sohio gasoline, its commercial jingle ringing in my head. My sister Tracy, whose thick blonde hair was woven into a pair of baubles, made a face and said, “Something smells like gas.”
	My mother smiled over her shoulder and asked, “What do you think this car runs on, coal?” Her connection to The Andy Griffith Show was far from obscure and caused us to roar, repeating the punch line until someone up front told us to knock it off. My father paid the man, dropped the car into gear and motored ahead, snaking down the entrance lane at Barberton’s Summit Drive In, its marquee a carnival of rolling colorful lights in the shape of a giant arrow. At the admission booth, money exchanged hands, and everyone in the car was set to see the night’s double-bill of Western pictures.
	We rumbled between two rows of cars until we swung wide into a final parking spot, inclining the wagon before a massive screen. My dad draped a corded loudspeaker inside the driver’s window, and a staticky melody about a girl named Venus filled the car. A sinister mood overcame me: What if a scoundrel, I supposed, could spray laughing gas through the line of our car’s speaker? My sisters could be asphyxiated, or we could all laugh our heads off. I had seen it done on television, the Riddler gassing people from Moldavia and a true-to-life mastodon. Hydrogen cyanide was no joke.
	My father dropped the rear tailgate and finally folded down the rear seats with a metallic snap. We sprang out of the car and set off for the playground. In the distance a throng of children packed the carousel and monkey bars. With the silver screen beginning to flicker brighter than fireflies, it struck me that the drive-in was the only place in the world where any boy or girl, no matter how big or small, was allowed to play outside in pajamas. It seemed ridiculous traipsing over the gravel lot, one hilly grade after another, in our night clothes and tennis shoes.
	Once we rushed into the company of other boys and girls dressed similarly, it sparked a festive mood. Kids everywhere shouted and raced along the spinning carousel or waited to catch an empty swing. The distant air blew rich with the steamy aroma of hot dogs and hot buttered popcorn. The warmth of the colossal screen dimmed and then ignited as nightfall eventually settled. Animated images of “taste-filled treats available at the refreshments stand” and commercial jingles echoed across the parking lot. Parents began shooing smaller children back to cars. We abandoned the carousel and started through the dusky magic, searching for our station wagon, passing strangers’ downed car windows. The picture of American friendship permeated the drive-in theater: So many people were sitting in wait for dreams launched by the celluloid of a motion picture.
	There was an understood privacy to each passing car, an elusive hush to each interior, how it hinted of cologne or hair tonic, the familiar roast of a cigarette cherry. Passengers murmured secret and low, adult eyes reading us as we passed by in cowboy print cottons and butterfly nightgowns. My ears caught patches of foreign-sounding conversations, my eyes straight ahead, sensing the forbidden.
	Once we were back to the car, my mother doled out paper sacks of homemade popcorn and Tupperware cups, ice-topped with grape Kool-Aid. Cartoon runs of Woody Woodpecker played to flashes of laughter but soon ended at the Universal Pictures globe. This was it, the matzo ball premiere. I was so excited I tickled my sister, she slapped me, I shouted, my mother told us to quiet down, my father shushed us all, and the giant screen flashed to grainy gray. A blocky “UA” marked the projectionist starting the first of the double-feature.
	A Western whistle from a flute gave me the creeps. Up front my father drew from a piquant jar one red-hot sausage after another, nipping too from a pint of Mogen David. My mother periodically gave him the old squint eye to which he shrugged and kept drinking. For the first hour or so spent in the back of the car, I tried to understand why Clint Eastwood wanted to dig up someone’s coffin. This was clearly nothing Batman would do, and for that reason alone, I grew bored and disinterested in Clint Eastwood.
	The projected stream of light reaching the big screen reminded me of Batman’s holograph when he had broadcast his symbol over Gotham’s night sky. Outside the rear window, fireflies drifted lazily by, and though I offered to step out and catch several to perhaps light up the back of the dark car, I was told instead to pipe down. For all the wonder of the drive-in, much of my curiosity rested with the legendary mystic of twinkle, The Sandman. Clutching a thick rope of blankets, my eyelids began to flutter in sequence, so I stretched beneath the open rear window and studied summer stars to the sounds of gunfire, Italian stringed music and a coyote. The cool air dizzied me into the sensation of drifting, darkening, drooping into June's dampening night.
	Much later, music that ended the film stirred me awake. The Arabic opening of Two Mules for Sister Sarah twanged on metallic pieces that riveted the interior of the car. My dad laughed at the brassy trailer and shouted, “The foreign legion of Mexico never knew what hit them!”
	“I’m tired,” I called from the backseat. My sisters groaned, turning again and again like blanketed mummies unable to find rest, my mother hushing us to sleep. Bodies around me spread out, whining drowsily, and tugging at pillows. I faded out once more and later that night awoke sleepily to the warm idle of the car’s engine, the soothing vibration of the automobile crackling over gravel. At the exit, there was a pronounced clip of wheels over the lip of the hard road, and we sailed off, the brisk night rushing throughout the heavy automobile.
 
","July 28, 2023 19:38","[[{'Chris Miller': ""Some lovely writing in there, Steven. A really strong sense of place and time. It's quite a specific experience, but because it is well told from the boy's perspective it is still very relatable, regardless of whether you have been to a Drive in. Little bit of a Bill Bryson feel. \n\nThanks for sharing. \n\nGood luck"", 'time': '12:53 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'This gave me all the feels. The sense of nostalgia, of an experience through a child’s eyes. Your writing style was engaging and paced well as you told the story. \n\n It was a joy to read your story, Steven!', 'time': '17:44 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,z3ifup,She Always Wore Blue,Katharine Widdows,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/z3ifup/,/short-story/z3ifup/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Sad']",20 likes,"
The elegant black hearse pulled slowly away from 53 Bellamy Street, leading the cortege comprised of just it and one other car. Hetty’s ecofriendly, bamboo coffin, covered with garlands of cornflowers, irises and buddleia in beautiful hues ranging from sky to midnight, could be seen from the back of the second vehicle.“Do you think we’re doing this right?” Stella gently placed one hand on the shoulder of her daughter’s smart, black suit and the other on the cream leather of the seat.“I don’t know Mum, but it’s the best we could manage,” said Claire. “We don’t know much about Hetty. Not much that’s true anyway. Apart from her wonderful clothes.”“I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but she did tell some tales!” Stella stifled a giggle. “You’re right about her dress sense though, those periwinkle stilettoes were something, and the suede cobalt slip-ons. She had a silk scarf to match every outfit as well.”“Tales is the word! Remember when she said she’d been in the service of the Dutch Royal Family? The Royal House of the Netherlands, she used to say.”“Ironic that they had a Princess of Orange when Hetty always wore blue.” Stella played down her grin by gazing out of the car window and focussing on the houses they were passing. ""I'll never forget that peacock jacket of hers, iridescent like real feathers, absolutely stunning.""“I still don’t understand why she chose us to oversee all of this.” Claire fiddled with the St. Christopher that sat just above the open top button of her grey blouse. “But then I suppose she didn’t have anyone else.”“No, she didn’t even talk to anyone on the street, apart from us. I did knock on all the doors you know, to give them the details, but I don’t think anyone'll be there.” Stella ran a finger along the square neckline of her black shift dress and straightened her pearls. “I suspect most of them just didn't take to her tall tales.”“Mum, do you remember when Hetty said she once won a wildlife photography competition at the Grand Canyon? She said she hid in a bush waiting for porcupines, but skunks came instead and she only managed to snap a picture of them spraying directly at her!” Claire sniggered.“Oh yes! She said she stank for days and spent the prize money on scented soap and new clothes!” Stella pinched her nose with two fingers and raised her eyebrows before letting out a loud guffaw.“Mum!” Claire shot a glance towards the back of the driver’s head, his neatly cut hair mostly hidden under a black top hat. “A little decorum!” But she was giggling, too. “Must be hard to disguise yourself in the desert when you’re clothed from head to foot in sapphire and navy. Sorry. Not sorry.”The two women covered their mouths with their hands, and each stared out of their own window until they had regained some composure. They were reaching the edge of town, and things were looking a little more rural.“Anyway,” said Stella, “one of us is going to have to give a eulogy and we still don’t have any idea where to start. What can we honestly say about the old dear?”“Well, we can say that she always wore blue,” said Claire. “We know that much is true. And that she was very generous. She’s left us practically everything she owned, I still can’t quite get over that. Who leaves almost their entire estate to people they've only known six months?”“She was very kind; I’ll give her that.” Stella checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror. I'm sure her clothes and shoes won't fit us, she was tiny! The charity shops will have a field day! But those gorgeous scarves we will have to keep.""There were a few moments of silence. Stella wiped a tear from her eye.“I don’t suppose it'll matter too much what we say."" Stella sighed. ""I doubt there'll be anyone there but us. It’s a shame. No one replied to my message in the local paper and I didn’t get a single response to the cards I sent out to those people in her address book.”“We tried, Mum. It was all we could do. Maybe if Hetty had told us anything about her real life, we might have stood more of a chance.”“Her real life. I wonder what happened to the identical quadruplet boys she said she had out of wedlock with the 1960’s film star she refused to name.”“Well, the 60’s was all about free love. Maybe we can give her the benefit of the doubt on that one. Didn't she say they all joined the army?""“Quadruplets?! I don’t think so, Claire. As much as I want to believe she had a loving family at some point, I didn’t see one visitor go to her house since she moved in opposite us. Let alone four.” Stella fiddled with her hat. “How about that time she came over to borrow a casserole dish to put a baby parrot in that she said she’d found abandoned in the park?”“That was so weird. Didn’t you give her some hay from our rabbits, too, to make it comfy? You did indulge her when I think about it. Like with the trifle.” Claire smirked.“Oh my, the trifle! I'd almost forgotten that she woke me up at 2am demanding red fruit to put in a trifle for the vicar’s wife. She swore blind she made a trifle every week, but had just forgotten that day. I’m not sure she even went to church you know. Nonsense.”“Yeah, but you still gave her a punnet of strawberries and a bag of cherries.”“Well, that was all I had!”“Not really the point I’m making, Mum.”“So what about this eulogy?” asked Stella. “We have to do better than ‘she always wore blue.’”“I’m not really sure we can do any better than that. If we told any of these silly stories it'd be like making fun of her. And as much as they have amused us over the last six months, that just feels wrong as part of a church service in her memory.”“I suppose you’re right. It’s so sad we never got to know who she really was. And now we're the only people around to say goodbye.”The hearse rounded a corner off the hedge-trimmed lane and briefly disappeared out of sight.“I think we’re here,” said Claire. “I’ll do the talking if you like. I can say some fairly generic, kind words that we can feel ok about.”“That would be good of you, if you don’t mind.”The funeral car followed the hearse round the bend and pulled into the almost full carpark opposite St. Leonard’s church, as the hearse stopped directly in front of the gothic building. Claire and Stella sat in the back of their car, wide eyed and speechless.Four identical men in full military dress were waiting as the hearse pulled up. They greeted the funeral director and exchanged a few words with him. He pointed to the car that Claire and Stella sat in, and the four men nodded and started to walk towards them.“I don’t believe it! Look at all these cars. Are we at the wrong place?” Stella wound down her window and stared at all the people milling about in the carpark and hanging around the entrance to the church.“I, I don’t think so Mum,” said Claire. “Look, that guy has a parrot and there's a very posh woman over there with a bodyguard!”“And there’s Reverend Gordon and his wife! I’ll be damned if she isn’t holding a trifle! Has that guy got cowboy boots on? And a camera?”At that moment both back doors of the funeral car opened, and Stella and Claire were each greeted by a tall man in spotless military uniform.“Claire and Stella Green?” said a deep, silky voice. “Our mother told us so much about you. It really is an honour.” 
","July 31, 2023 20:35","[[{'Chris Miller': 'A car in a funeral procession was a great idea for this prompt. One of those stories that makes me think ""Wish I thought of that!""\n\nThanks for sharing, Katherine.', 'time': '11:57 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you!', 'time': '15:35 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you!', 'time': '15:35 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'SJ Shoemaker': ""I love this idea. So much of what we know of others are tiny snapshots of their lives. There's always a greater story to be found."", 'time': '17:19 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you for reading and leaving your thoughts - I'm glad you liked it."", 'time': '19:01 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you for reading and leaving your thoughts - I'm glad you liked it."", 'time': '19:01 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Rama': ""Great story! I love how you took something dark, like a funeral, and made it lighthearted and funny. I think we, as an audience, deserve a story in Hetty's perspective! Amazing job, keep writing! \nP.S. if you wouldn't mind checking out my newest story, I would be over the moon. (It's so hard to get exposure when it's just on your profile.)"", 'time': '14:13 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jon Casper': ""We've all known a Hetty, haven't we? Mine was a co-worker, Marge. She used to tell the tallest tales, and we'd all bite our tongues and snicker. She passed less than a year after retirement, and we all spent an afternoon in the conference room reminiscing over all her wild stories. Alas, they didn't end up being true, in Marge's case.\n\nThe dialogue is engaging and I love the descriptions. I felt like I was in the limo with them, catching their little quirks (Claire fiddled with the St. Christopher that sat just above the open top button of h..."", 'time': '09:12 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Jon - yeah - Andy asked me how people would know I even wrote this! LOL. Thank you ever so much for the notes - all added in now.', 'time': '18:45 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Jon - yeah - Andy asked me how people would know I even wrote this! LOL. Thank you ever so much for the notes - all added in now.', 'time': '18:45 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Great tale Katharine, the skunk wildlife photos and the casserole dish for a parrot made me giggle, and what's better than an inappropriate giggle at a funeral.\n\nGreat wholesome story with so much untold backstory, perhaps Hetty will get a story of her own some day?"", 'time': '16:54 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Kevin, thats very kind. I dont tend to revisit characters that I set up on Reedsy - I think short stories are better as stand alone pieces for the most part - but Hetty is interesting - shame she was dead before I even started the story!', 'time': '18:47 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Kevin, thats very kind. I dont tend to revisit characters that I set up on Reedsy - I think short stories are better as stand alone pieces for the most part - but Hetty is interesting - shame she was dead before I even started the story!', 'time': '18:47 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Such a nice story. Hetty was quite the character and kept it all on the downlow humble as anything. Brilliant!', 'time': '17:15 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""I'm really glad you liked it Derrick - thank you."", 'time': '18:47 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""I'm really glad you liked it Derrick - thank you."", 'time': '18:47 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': ""Katharine, what a great story! I think the stories that people tell us can teach us so much about them. You created Hetty just with the character's dialogue, and told us so much about her, just from the stories she told. I loved it!"", 'time': '01:02 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thats very kind, thank you very much Anna.', 'time': '18:48 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thats very kind, thank you very much Anna.', 'time': '18:48 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'This is so special 😍.👗👑🥿👬👬who knew it could all be true?', 'time': '22:08 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks Mary - I'm really glad you liked it."", 'time': '18:48 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks Mary - I'm really glad you liked it."", 'time': '18:48 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,p5rrz8,Gas Light,Nina Herbst,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p5rrz8/,/short-story/p5rrz8/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Coming of Age', 'Friendship']",18 likes,"
“My hand hurts. I’ve been doing this for hours. Can you take it from here?” Meg begged. “No, not while I’m driving! I need to concentrate a little on the road. Please Meg, just a little more. We’re so close now.” Jeff pleaded. I sat in the backseat, pretending to be asleep, listening to it all. If Jeff knew I was awake he’d want me to help. It was close to midnight and we had gotten lost three times in two hours. My boyfriend Mark was sleeping on my right side. He could sleep through anything, and anywhere. That’s why he didn’t even know about my hand in Jeff’s driving shifts. My eyes were burning with the need for sleep, and my hand was also aching from when it was my turn with Jeff. Meg can do it now and stop complaining. I know Jeff liked it better when it was my turn with him, but we’d never tell Meg that. She’d completely lose it. And she’s lost it enough on this trip. Mostly she’s fine, but sometimes the confines of this vehicle get to her. I mean, really get to her. She’s actually holding it together fairly well as we try to find our exit in Texas.Our foursome had decided a month ago to set out on the trip of a lifetime. We had just graduated from college, and the world was our oyster. We were ready to slurp it down before becoming entrenched in pursuing jobs and “real life”. That would slurp us down in no time for sure. And in different directions. Meg wanted to be an environmentalist, saving the planet and finding new ways to create energy. She had her sights set on Denver. Maybe San Francisco. Jeff was going to program computers. He had a scientific brain that never seemed to stop. He had mentioned Washington, D.C. as a potential job location. But his heart often won in battles against his brain, and I had bet Mark $50 he would follow Meg wherever she landed in life. Mark was going to pursue writing and music in New York. He had all the talent, all the heart, all the ambition to make it there. And I was going to find a teaching job somewhere. I knew the market was tough in a lot of areas. You had to have connections, and I had zero. I didn’t really want to teach in the city, but I’d tell Mark after the trip. Why ruin it? In any case, we weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. This was the perfect answer. Jeff and Meg had set to planning the major stops from the East coast to the West. Mark and I had planned the West back to the East. We made it to Chicago in good spirits, saw the sights, ate the pizza, then moved along. We camped in Colorado, made it to the Grand Canyon in a bizarre snowstorm in August, hiked the hoodoos of Bryce, gassed up in Las Vegas, drove the coast of Cali to Big Sur, and stayed with Meg’s Sister in San Diego. I experienced tofu eggs there. Soy eggs? I have no idea. But they were unlike any eggs I’ve ever met in my life. Seeing Meg with her sister made me miss mine deeply. I was on the complete opposite coast from my family, the furthest I’d ever been from them. And the West made me feel open and vulnerable. The flat stretches of desert and plains made me feel like someone was creeping up behind me. Like anything could come down from the sky and strike me or sweep me away. Maybe these fears were just how feeling homesick presented itself. But I couldn’t wait to get back to my family and the mountains and trees of the East that were home. A week and a half in, and we became so much closer. Sleeping in tight quarters, huddling close in our tent when we camped overnight. One night, we were set up near a river and heard what sounded like wolves outside the tent. Fear drove us away from the tent and into the van that night. Still, camping saved money, of which we had little. If we could sleep in the van or the tent, we’d do it. We tried to eat on a budget too, splurging in the cities and settling for gas station fare most everywhere else. Now we were exhausted from traveling, Francine the Big Red Van had broken down more times than we could keep track of, and it was edging close to midnight as we entered Texas. “Higher Meg…pay attention to what you’re doing. Come on…” Jeff whispered. He must really think I’m asleep. Good. I could tell he’s getting frustrated with her. “How’s this? Better?” she breathed. “Yes, baby, that’s it. Right there. Don’t stop, ok?” Jeff encouraged her. He knew she was getting tired. Her grip was slipping, and he just needed her to finish. “Is that…?” Meg started to ask, her voice rising with the faintest hint of excitement. “Yes, that’s it. Oh, thank God…” Jeff said in relief. I could see the look on his face, even with my eyes closed. “Thank you, Meg, I’m good now. I just needed that.” Jeff said as he slowed the van off the exit. Finally, we had reached our exit after a long blistering day in the heat. Thanks to Meg holding the flashlight, Jeff was able to see the speedometer to gauge his speed on the highway, watch the erratic gas gauge that always stopped at half-full even when it was about empty, and monitor if Francine was about to overheat again. We realized we had about five miles once the engine went from cool to hot before Francine gasped, sputtered, and died on the road. We became experts at cooling her down with jugs of water. Why we thought driving cross country in a 1972 van with no working interior lights or air conditioning was a good idea is beyond me. But live and learn. And hold the flashlight steady. 
","August 04, 2023 23:14","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""I really enjoyed the story. It's very well told. The writing feels elegant without being flowery or overdone. Really easy to read. Not a single mistake. (Which means that either there weren't any or the story was so engrossing I didn't notice or remember any.) Either way, that's hard to do, Nina. Really. \n\nThe title is a double-edged sword, however. It invites one to find out how they're going to be gas lighted. But it also tells everyone that they're going to be gas lighted. Mislead. I knew at the outset, that what you were trying to make m..."", 'time': '07:54 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, you fooled me - Double Meaning City, good thinking, good original ideas there, Nina. Nice work.', 'time': '22:10 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks for reading, Joe! I abandoned several stories by the side of the road this week with this prompt. This one, I was able to finish. 😂', 'time': '23:07 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks for reading, Joe! I abandoned several stories by the side of the road this week with this prompt. This one, I was able to finish. 😂', 'time': '23:07 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Haha! Yes, of course, like everyone else I also wondered, what are they doing with their hands :) ""Gas Light"" indeed :) \n\nBittersweet under the hood, being the last hurrah before life changes. But change is inevitable, right? Might as well create those memories. Thanks for sharing!', 'time': '20:48 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': '“But change is inevitable” - absolutely! We roll with it, or fight it, but creating the memories makes everything worth it. \nThanks for reading, Michał! :)', 'time': '21:06 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': '“But change is inevitable” - absolutely! We roll with it, or fight it, but creating the memories makes everything worth it. \nThanks for reading, Michał! :)', 'time': '21:06 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Martin Harp': 'I enjoy how this is very innocent and yet no one takes it that way to begin haha', 'time': '18:26 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Hey Martin! Sometimes the great part of reading a story is seeing what you imagine is happening vs. what really is happening 😜 \n\nThanks so much for reading and commenting!! 😄', 'time': '20:03 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Hey Martin! Sometimes the great part of reading a story is seeing what you imagine is happening vs. what really is happening 😜 \n\nThanks so much for reading and commenting!! 😄', 'time': '20:03 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Yeah I had no clue what was going on here, I actually had to stop and restart three times to get it. 😂  My flashlight on I mean 😂\nSeriously though this was a great tale , cleverly put together with a real ba-dum-tish ending. \nNothing like a road trip in a broken down Scooby can!', 'time': '07:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Oh man, having to try three times is not a sign of a good story!! 😂\U0001fae3 \n“Scooby can” - now I’m reimagining the characters here!!!', 'time': '12:12 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': 'Doh should say Scooby van!\nNo I just had to keep checking to see if I was reading it wrong 😂', 'time': '12:19 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'Can or van - same troublesome tin transport! \nNope, that’s how I wanted you to read it! 🤭', 'time': '12:21 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Oh man, having to try three times is not a sign of a good story!! 😂\U0001fae3 \n“Scooby can” - now I’m reimagining the characters here!!!', 'time': '12:12 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Doh should say Scooby van!\nNo I just had to keep checking to see if I was reading it wrong 😂', 'time': '12:19 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'Can or van - same troublesome tin transport! \nNope, that’s how I wanted you to read it! 🤭', 'time': '12:21 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Doh should say Scooby van!\nNo I just had to keep checking to see if I was reading it wrong 😂', 'time': '12:19 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Can or van - same troublesome tin transport! \nNope, that’s how I wanted you to read it! 🤭', 'time': '12:21 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Can or van - same troublesome tin transport! \nNope, that’s how I wanted you to read it! 🤭', 'time': '12:21 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'Nicely written, Nina. Quite an epic tale for the word count. \n\nThanks for sharing.', 'time': '20:15 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you for reading it, Chris! I debated adding more to the adventures in various states, then decided to just take the short route. 😄', 'time': '20:25 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you for reading it, Chris! I debated adding more to the adventures in various states, then decided to just take the short route. 😄', 'time': '20:25 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Oh, I see the light!🔦 Knew it had to have innocent explanation!😊', 'time': '19:43 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Lol!! I didn’t keep you in the dark for long, did I Mary?? You saw through me 😝', 'time': '19:47 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Lol!! I didn’t keep you in the dark for long, did I Mary?? You saw through me 😝', 'time': '19:47 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Haha, I’m loving the way you lead the reader down the totally wrong road with just enough description to metaphorically hang themselves. I know my  mind was going places that it should never go while attempting a road trip. Well done.', 'time': '13:56 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': '“Leading down the wrong road”, “mind going places”, in response to a road trip story! Even your comments are great writing Michelle! 😂 thanks for reading!', 'time': '14:11 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': '“Leading down the wrong road”, “mind going places”, in response to a road trip story! Even your comments are great writing Michelle! 😂 thanks for reading!', 'time': '14:11 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Why is everyone's hand hurting...wait is this sexual... what's going on... Backstory...oh it is sexual, dirty Jeff....oh wait.\n\nThis is the text version of my journey through your tale ha. An wholesome, albeit disguised, coming of age story.\n\nOne recommendation, the fifth paragraph were you give everyone's future hopes, I'd suggest moving each character to their own paragraph. Just for ease of reading."", 'time': '09:20 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Oh that dirty Jeff! Lol!! \n\nThank you for that suggestion, Kevin!! That’s a good call. I’ll change it! :)', 'time': '10:37 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'Anytime! 😊', 'time': '08:13 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Oh that dirty Jeff! Lol!! \n\nThank you for that suggestion, Kevin!! That’s a good call. I’ll change it! :)', 'time': '10:37 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'Anytime! 😊', 'time': '08:13 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Anytime! 😊', 'time': '08:13 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,3mms6h,"""The Wedding""",MJ Grimes,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3mms6h/,/short-story/3mms6h/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Funny']",17 likes,"
This is the story of Harry and his friends and how they made it to their best friend’s wedding on time. Harry had a habit of not planning ahead and was on his way to the church in his old red car when he ran out of gas. Because of the frequency of these occasions, Harry always kept a jerry jug handy in the trunk. He had it in his hand as he walked up to the checkout counter at the gas station down the street from the dead vehicle. Sifting through the pockets of his father’s old gray suit jacket, he pulled out a twenty and asked the cashier for a pack of cigarettes. 
	When he walked outside he remembered that it was quite a walk he had taken to the gas station. He was beginning to unwrap the new pack of cigarettes when a large white SUV pulled up next to him. 
	“Still running out of gas there, buddy?” the man behind the wheel called out. He had on a pair of gigantic, tinted brown sunglasses and a beige suit that was so big you could barely tell where his body was. Sandy blonde hair wafted above his forehead. 
	“Here and there. But not as much,” Harry answered. They both smiled a sly smile that held within them timeless stories. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”
	“Likewise, my friend. You need a lift to this wedding?”
	“My car is right down the road here.”
	“I don’t think you’re gonna make it on time buddy. Also, what do you mean? I don’t even see your car.”
	“I thought I only walked right down the street...”
	“Get in, pal.”
 
So the two of them rode in Tony’s aunt’s old Chevy Trailblazer. The wedding was at three o’clock and it was currently two-fifteen and they were about thirty minutes away from the church. One would think that would be plenty of time to arrive promptly, but not on this day and not for these friends. The traffic was light as the blazer cruised through the residential streets. At one point, the pair had to pass through the central hub of town where traffic was heavier. 
	At a red light, they both nearly leapt from the car as a loud bang shook them both and the car. A small man had slid across the hood of their car in his underwear and was running full speed down the street with a very thin woman in a pink robe chasing after him with a broom over her head.
	“You son of a beetch! Give me my money you pig!” she screamed as she chased the man in vain. Harry noticed she was smoking a cigarette while doing all of this and was impressed for a moment. The two watched in awe until Tony spoke.
	“Hey, doesn’t that look like-”
 
After they made it through town, they found the half naked man catching his breath and clothing himself in an alley around the corner from the movie theater. Tony and Harry recognized Danny immediately.
	“Fellas! What a lucky surprise! Hey, do either of you have an extra tie? That hooker tried to strangle me with mine and it ripped in half,” Danny said as he tried to pop one of his shoes through the bottom of his pant leg. His suit was a navy blue but looked gray with dust and was wrinkled all over. Thin black hair hung over his eyes. 
 
	“You need to find yourself a girlfriend,” Tony said.
	“I agree,” said Harry. 
	“That bitch was revved up, huh? I went home with her last night after she told me she had some booger sugar. Turned out it was fake. Being the gentleman I am, I gallantly set off to find this swindler and restore honor to the prostitute’s name. I convinced him to give me the real stuff with a pair of pliers but he ended up following me back to her house. We were throwing haymakers for a while until I managed to lock him in her closet. That’s when she told me he was her pimp and then the tie thing happened.”
	Harry and Tony looked at each other then Harry said, “I don’t think they’re going to let you in the church, Danny.” 
 
So the three of them drove onward, Tony and Harry in the front and Danny stretched out across the back seat staring out through the sunroof. 
	“Are there any girls we know going to this thing?” Danny asked. 
“I think Stacy Ramirez is going,” said Tony. 
Danny retorted in disgust and sat up in the back seat. 
	“Please tell me you think more of me than that. Half the guys we went to school with rode that bus.”
	“Tiffany Davis will be there. I saw her at the hardware store,” said Harry.
	“What were you doing at the hardware store?”
	“I don’t know.”
	“You’re useless. Tiffany Davis though. Is she single?” Danny looked back up at the ceiling as if imagining it. 
	“Danny, how’s work going?” Tony chimed in and Danny shrunk back in the chair.
	“Who needs work when the government pays you to sit on your ass?”
	“You got fired?”
	“I quit.”
	“Did you fail another drug test?”
	“The fake piss Morretti gave me didn’t work. I knew it tasted like lemonade.”
There was now fifteen minutes left until the wedding. Angst began overtaking the trio as the car seemed to be moving slower than ever. 
	“Does this shitbucket move any faster? Greg’s going to kill us. Greg’s mom is going to kill us. That woman still hates me for breaking the penis off her statue of David in third grade.”
	“I remember that,” Harry said. 
	“Don’t worry, fellas. We’re gonna make it,” Tony said with his eyes confidently on the road ahead. Slowly, his head began to turn to the right. As his head turned, the car slowed until he was fully stopped, staring past Harry through the passenger window.
	“Do you all see that?” he asked.
	“I see it but I don’t think it’s real,” said Harry.
	“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” said Danny. 
	On the sidewalk next to them and just a few yards ahead was a man dressed in a brown tweed suit. The suit was so small on him that the pant legs crawled up to his kneecaps and the blazer looked like he’d rolled up the sleeves. His back was turned but the three in the car knew who it was right away. They would have continued driving too had it not been for the small child holding his hand walking alongside him. The child was also wearing a suit, but it was enormous. The pink pant legs and sleeves dragged on the concrete behind them. 
	“Harold, is that you?” Tony called from the rolled down window. 
	The large man in the tweed suit turned over his shoulder and smiled. He gathered up the small child in a big rose bundle in his arms.
	“Anthony. Harry. Daniel. My friends.”
	“Where in the fucking world did you get a child?”
	“We learned about this in school, Danny,” said Harry. 
	“Oh! This is Felipe,” Harold said beaming at the small boy.
	“Felipe? You’re Irish, you dimwit,” said Danny, laughing.
	“Hi, Felipe,” said Harry, waving. Cars were slowing down behind them.
	“I saw you at the bar two weeks ago. You didn’t say anything about Felipe,” said Tony. 
	“It’s a funny story,” Harold smiled. “So I was working one night, just packing up the truck for the day’s deliveries. I was very sleepy that morning and everyone else finished before me. I dropped one of the boxes and wouldn’t you know, a bottle of bourbon was in it! A whole dang bottle. I was afraid of getting in trouble for breaking the box so I reasoned the only sensible thing to do was get rid of the box and drink the liquor.”
	“Naturally.”
	“Of course.”
	“I would have done the same thing.”
	“Right? Plus, I figured whoever was getting the bottle was probably receiving it for a special occasion. He probably did something cool like invent something or became mayor. I mean, it was a nice bottle. He probably would have wanted it sealed nice and neatly. So if I drank it, they’d have to re-do it all perfect and such.” 
	“I’m glad we’re friends, Harold.”
	“Thanks, Harry. So anyway, I sat in the back of the truck with the deliveries and drank as fast as I could until there was nothing left. Only problem was I don’t remember what I did with the bottle. I woke up later on someone’s porch and Felipe here was wrapped up in my arms. He had some note on him but it was in Spanish and I couldn’t read it. So I named him Felipe and took him home.”
	“You’re an absolute psychopath,” Danny said.
	“Congrats on becoming a dad! I will have to remember to buy him a nice baby gift,” said Harry. 
	Danny looked at his watch and realized they had just five minutes to make it to the wedding. 
	“Get in the car. Bring Felipe. We’re all going to be late. Greg is going to kill us.”
	“Greg’s mom is going to kill us,” Danny said. 
	“Do you have a child seat?”
 
When they arrived at the church, they were ten minutes late. Tony didn’t even search for a parking space and pulled right up to the doors of the church with tires squealing. Inside, the pues were packed with patrons who thought they were about to witness a wedding. Greg had instructed everyone to wait just a bit longer, for he knew his friends must be on their way. People were beginning to buzz and rumors about the wedding being called off swirled about. Outside the tall and archaic doors, the four friends huddle together. 
	“Alright, we’re late and we look awful, boys. We’re just going to go in quietly and sneak into a pue in the back,” directed Tony as he adjusted his oversized sunglasses. 
	“I look great,” said Danny.
	“Sorry, I couldn’t find that tie,” said Harry.
	“Where is your belt, Harry?” asked Harold. 
	“Oh man.”
	“Listen. This is serious. Our buddy is getting married. We need to be respectful,” said Danny. 
	“We’re always respectful,” said Danny. “How can you get more respectful than taking in a kid out of the goodness of your heart?” Harold smiled proudly and looked down for Felipe but he was gone. 
	“Felipe? Felipe?! Harry? Did you see him?!”
	“I think he might have gone that way,” Harry said and pointed to the now partially opened doors of the church. 
	Felipe had sauntered his way into the church and directly down the aisle. He stumbled most of the way but gave up and began crawling when he tripped over one of his satin sleeves. The people in the pues laughed, cried, stared in horror and confusion at the small child’s procession. When he finally reached the wedding party standing on the steps to the altar, one of the bridesmaids gasped. 
	“Jimmy?!” she shrieked in shock and horror as the baby perked his head up to look at her. The church was silent. The bridesmaid moved as if she was going to the child but her body went limp and she fainted and rolled down the steps and laid there in front of the child. Later on at the reception, she would tell the story of how the child had been stolen from her while in line at the gas station the week prior. She was going to checkout and turned her back for a second and when she looked back, only a bottle of Jim Beam sat in the stroller. Tears streamed down her face as she rejoiced at being reunited with her baby boy. 
	“So is that your wife, Harold?” Harry asked.
 
During all of the commotion at the church, Tony, Harry, Danny and Harold managed to sneak in just as Tony had instructed. The four of them sat back and watched the spectacle as if they had been there the whole time. When Greg saw them, he smiled and gave the green light for the wedding to begin with the bridesmaid still passed out on the steps. 
	“Do you think we look okay?” Harry asked the group as they sat waiting for the ceremony.
	In front of them, an old woman turned around in her seat and spoke to them in a whiny voice.
	“I’m just glad you idiots are here. He wouldn’t start the damn thing without you fiendish looking buffoons.”
And they all smiled happily then and Harry forgot about forgetting his belt. 	
 
At the reception, the friends reunited in the most grandiose fashion to date. They drank by the bucket and each of them had their own journey that night. Tony forced his way into the band when he punched out their lead singer. Harry forgot where they were staying and walked all the way back to sleep in his car. Danny got slapped in the face by Tiffany Davis but made amends with Greg’s mother and spent the night in her hotel room. Harold tried to steal Felipe again and Felipe’s mother reported him to the police as a suspect in his kidnapping the next day. Greg smoked a cigar and cried in the bathroom when he realized he was married. The next morning, the five of them had forgotten a lot but all remembered that they had a good time and that they were together. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 13:29",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,94ie6q,Voluntary Hostage,Kay Smith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/94ie6q/,/short-story/94ie6q/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Sad', 'Suspense']",16 likes,"
**Warning: Possible Triggers! Explicit Language, Mental Health, and Some Violence** “I HOPE WHEN YOU GET HOME, YOU GET DRUNK AS FUCK AND YOU BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF WITH A SHOTGUN, FUCKING BITCH!” The voice; screaming , spittle flying, from the backseat through plumes of thick cigarette smoke belongs to my fourteen year old son. I am eighty-four days sober and am about to drive without a valid license to take him, for all practical purposes, to a ‘mental institution’ roughly seventy miles away. Smoke continues to roll toward the front of the car while outside, the Texas sky fills with dark, ominous clouds and a growl of thunder reverberates off the surrounding hills.As I look out my window, a fork of lightning flashes intensely across the sky and then a hard and unexpected volley of kicks are delivered to the back of the passenger seat, violently jostling it in the chassis accompanied by an animalistic shriek of hatred. I startle. My hands shake and my heart takes off at a gallop. I fight back my own fury and try to remember what all of the therapists and the literature has told me; a negative response would be ""completely counterproductive and only further inflame the situation…""I take several slow calming breaths but I am pissed that my son thinks that in any realm of reality, I would feel okay with him brutalizing my vehicle. Thunder cracks loudly then rumbles lowly, making the windows rattle. My hands go from shaking to absolutely vibrating. I suddenly feel as if there is something constricting my flow of oxygen. I break into a clammy, sick sweat.Furtively, I grab my purse and find the orange bottle. I hope, for once, that Kevin is too ensconced in his state of self-righteousness to notice or care about what I am doing. My left hand shakes as it pops the top off the bottle and I shake one of the tiny green pills onto my right palm. I tip my palm toward my mouth, and take a sip from my bottle of water. Kevin’s screech of accusation lifts me about a foot out of my seat:""OH, GREAT! MY PILL HEAD, BITCH MOTHER IS GOING TO KIDNAP ME FROM MY OWN HOME, DRIVE ME TO ANOTHER CITY ALL STONED OUT OF HER MIND ON DRUGS, TO CHECK ME INTO A LOONEY BIN??! WHO'S THE FUCKING HYPOCRITE NOW, BITCH? I BET YOU'RE NOT GOING TO TELL THEM ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DRUG HABIT! IT'S JUST GOING TO BE ABOUT ME AND WHAT A HORRIBLE, FUCKED UP, DISAPPOINTMENT I AM!?”Something warm, wet, and unwelcome smacks my right jaw and falls unceremoniously onto my blouse, where it remains. ""Well, it could be worse, "" I think, as I try to dry the spit from my face.“FINE, DON’T ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING WHORE! I WISH YOU’D HAVE DIED INSTEAD OF DAD!”If he were anyone else, he might have received a stinging backhand across his face. However, this is my son, kind of... once we reach this point - Kevin kind of... checks out for a while, he is not at the helm, no one is steering the ship...I put the car in reverse to back up and face our street, I longingly glance toward the house with its warm, amber light pouring from the windows.The sun, once a fierce blaze in the sky, slides behind the clouds and is quickly obscured by the ever gathering mountain of thunderheads. I watch the clouds, pregnant with the rain, seem to sag under the weight, threatening to let go at any moment. I flip on the headlights, turn on the defrost, and put the car in drive. I try to keep Kevin in my periphery as I pull onto our road. I then turn left onto a two-lane highway.Once, as a passenger in the front seat, while I was doing about eighty down I-10, he attempted to grab the steering wheel. Another time, he slapped me in the face as he was screaming , windows down, that I was kidnapping him and to please call the police! “Yes, someone call them!” I thought momentarily. Since those attempts, Kevin has been relegated to the backseat and only with the child locks engaged.""Please, please let this go as smoothly as it can."" I just have to make it down one other relatively brief stretch of highway and I'm headed to an onramp to the interstate.To be honest, I probably should have pulled over and called 911 and let 'Crisis Management' handle his transport, but I just... couldn't. I couldn't call 911 on my son and unfortunately, he knows it. He knows it and he exploits it. I approach the onramp flip on my left blinker and merge into traffic.In my experience, police that really understand someone in the throes of a mental health crisis are few and far between. I also did not want him to wind up in the custody of the State, in their hospital, or in jail facing charges for actions he may not even remember.So, he rides in the back seat and listens to his music- LOUDLY, chain-smoking, and occasionally puffing on a joint.""Yeah, I know, shame on me. So long as we can make it safely, and without incident, I no longer care."" If I did call EMS and he were to flip the fuck out, the paramedics would forcibly hold him down and administer what is known as, ""The Booty Juice,"" which is either a hefty dose of Haldol or a cocktail of antipsychotics that renders the person almost catatonic. My son was given this cocktail. He said that one moment, he was being pinned on the floor by burly orderlies and the next; he was in his bed, covered in Cheeto dust, roughly twenty-four hours later... I prefer the pot.I set the cruise control and remember. My husband washed his hands of it awhile ago, having been the verbal punching bag one time too many. Kevin’s biological father currently resides in the local cemetery and has since the Boy turned two, so, no help there. Being the mother of a mentally ill child is one of the loneliest things.I-10 is the primary reason the child locks are engaged… Well, I-10 and Kevin himself. He has threatened to jump before to, “just fucking end it all.” In a blind rage... I believe he actually could do it, which gives me nightmares. In these, his body leaves the car doing eighty down the freeway, then he flips, toes over nose, cartwheels, finally striking the pavement in such a way, I can hear skin rip and burst, and bones snap and shatter. Once his mangled body finally comes to a rest, a semi barrels toward him and crushes him. It’s essentially how his Daddy died and so far, his feet have beaten the same path as his Dad's, which scares me to death.If I dream of, or even imagine this, all I can think about are those mesmerizing moments, so long ago, so fleeting, where I counted his tiny fingers and toes as an infant while staring into eyes of the deepest of blue, or how I blew raspberries on his tummy as a toddler and he shrieked with peals of laughter...You see, a mother's error is that she often doesn't see things how they are. In my mind, my son is not a mentally disturbed adolescent in serious need of medical and behavioral healthcare intervention. He is a little boy, naked except for a pull-up and somewhat over-sized rain boots, sloshing his way around the backyard.A frog wanders into his purview. He stoops, his tiny butt peeking out of the back of his pullup, and picks up the frog. While looking it in the eyes, he inquires in his saccharine 3-year-old voice, ""Where your Mommy, Frog?"" When it didn't reply, he held it up to his ear and proceeded to shake it a time or two in an attempt to get it to work.He is forever my tousle-haired sweet boy asking for cereal while wearing his Spiderman pajamas, and shooting 'webs' about the kitchen.Motherhood really is a force of nature. It transcends time and space. It holds the deepest empathy and unwavering forgiveness one will ever know. I was just on the brink of a panic attack, so scared it affected my physical self, and facing a potentially serious thunderstorm... I'd rather not but of course, I will... for him. It's for my Frog Whisperer in those Spiderman pajamas. I was and am more concerned with his immediate needs than my potential ones. He leans forward to grab the cord to charge his phone. Immediately, I flinch and shield my face with my forearm. For an instant, our eyes meet and in his, I see indescribable sadness and guilt. The moment passes, my eyes, back on the road as the ear-splitting sound of explicit rap erupts from the speakers. I crack my window an inch or two to help the smoke disperse, then I light up my own cigarette. With hands that remain unsteady, I take a deep drag and continue quiet contemplation.Kevin has always been a handful. Before he was ten years old, we had been through three broken arms, several rounds of stitches, and more bumps, and bruises than I could count.As a child, he had trouble in Elementary School; learning disabilities and behavioral issues. He was also dyslexic. He was in Speech therapy and was pulled out of class regularly for all of these programs that were to help him. Medication had been mentioned in a couple of Parent-Teacher Conferences’ but I just wanted to be as certain and as educated on it as I could be before giving my then eight year old, pharmaceutical grade speed.With the blindfold of Adoration removed and the glasses of education on, it was plain as day, and we moved forward with the ADHD diagnosis and unfortunately, the meds. Now he was being called out of class once again everyday around lunchtime.All of this set him up to be fodder for bullies. They shoved him into the wall or door and called him, “retard,” or, “faggot, regularly” They mocked him because his father was dead.While the medication did help, it felt like he was a lab rat as he was switched from pill to pill to multiple or different pills and dosages. With that, came side-effects: weight-loss, weight-gain, insomnia, hypersomnia, random and involuntary tics.Then - puberty struck. With it came his intense desire to not attend school, and his dramatically increased aggressive behavior that seemed to manifest from thin air.This affected the entirety of our daily lives: our marriage, my relationships with my daughters, my livelihood, and it put severe strain on my friendships where well-intended people thought that Kevin ""just needed a good, old-fashioned ass-whipping"", or ""a healthy place that could be a positive outlet for all that excess energy!"" These people really just didn’t understand.Then possible legal action against me arrived in the form of a certified letter from The State of Texas, hand-delivered to me by the Constable regarding Kevin's truancy. Years ago, when Kevin would refuse to get dressed, I would just carry him and his clothes and tell him it was his decision on how he wanted to arrive at school, in his undies, crying, or dressed for the day and put together.I was at a breaking point; I was a powder keg. I had been written up at work for my tardiness, as had his sister’s.Rain began to spatter the windshield in quick, fat drops that quickly became a deluge. I turned the wipers on high. We made it another ten miles before visibility forced us to a crawl. I risked a few glances at the rearview. The Wrath of Kevin was receding as fast as it came on. As we continue down I-10, I start to feel the same way I always do at this point: Uncertain, full of doubt.Why am I looking to have him admitted? He’s all but docile now, is it really necessary? “Okay, yes,” he threatened to strike a female classmate but he didn’t. She is his Constant Tormentor. Isn’t this just Kid Shit that should be sorted out at school? Is it really worthy of all this?The rain begins to let up as we approach a town on the outskirts of the San Antonio city limit. It's just a steady drizzle now. I think of the stack of referrals from school that I brought along (to aid in my ‘transgression) that are tucked away with my anxiety medication that began as an, “as needed,” basis but had now become a, “two times daily,” prescription. I let up on the gas pedal and let the car coast down to the speed limit of the fast approaching town. Beneath the booming music and the noise of the storm, I hear the sad and helpless, crying coming from the backseat. I use the master audio control on my steering wheel to turn the volume off.“Please talk to me, Son,” I implore, feeling hot tears well up in my eyes and I struggle to swallow around the lump in my throat.“I wasn’t going to hit her! Dammit! I don't want to be locked up in there, Mom! Mommy?""My heart feels as if it might implode as I listen to his terrified appeal. Internally, I scold myself and remind myself of the referrals. I tell myself I am doing the right thing and not to be manipulated by this abrupt change in demeanor. The thing is, his apology or explanation might very well be steeped in truth but...We reach San Antonio and pass Fiesta Texas. The roller coasters rising steeply up in the dark grey day, waver, dreamlike outside the rain soaked windows.“Please, Mom? Please don’t send me away again?” A tear betrays my false bravado by sliding miserably down my cheek. I sniffle audibly. Not too far ahead of us is the off ramp that will take us to the side street where the hospital is... whose doors only lock from the outside.The silence between us after the music, the intense but brief thunderstorm, and the noise of the tires eating up the road is excruciating. I slow to a stop and turn on my blinker to pull into the parking lot. His soft crying becomes sobs of stark fear. He is begging, incoherent now. He's drooling and rocking back and forth, curled into a tight ball. I find a parking spot, slide into it, and press the button to kill the engine. I look at Kevin, desperately searching his face as if it holds the key to release me from the ambiguity I feel trapped in.“… Kevin screamed in the face of an elderly cafeteria employee after throwing his tray across the room…” whispers a snippet of a referral. I begin taking out my earrings and then release the catch to remove my necklace. I drop them into my coin purse. I intentionally wore shoes without laces. I remove my rings; and add these things to my coin bag. ""... Kevin punched hole in hallway wall after being removed from class for throwing his desk and calling Mrs. Jiminez a ‘f***ing c***’…”While surreptitiously peeking at my son in the rearview mirror, a war rages between my heart and my mind. I undo my watch, grab my cell, and shove everything deep into my purse. I grab my wallet, extricate my ID, and his insurance card, along with the stack of damning referrals.I take a shuddering breath and with palms pouring sweat, I cram my purse into the glove box and lock it. The noises from the backseat have quieted, there’s an occasional moan or whimper of possible contrition and acquiescence. “Good,” I presume, “maybe getting him from the car to the hospital won’t be that bad. The hospital where he loses his identity and becomes a patient number...""I place both hands on the steering wheel and take several centering breaths, then I open my door, and slide the ID cards into my back pocket while stepping out of the car. The rain has all but stopped.Timidly, I open his door and prepare myself for ease of transition or a chase through the sprawling urban jungle. I am on edge, fucking fried, and so exhausted. Sometimes I wonder if the relief I feel when I leave this place has more to do with him getting help or with me having a moment to breathe. ""Who is this really for?"" I reach my hand out to him in a show of solidarity.His hand reaches out, quick as a snake, and smacks my hand away. He steps out of the car, towering over me. Looming over me... For a moment, I am truly afraid of my son, my Frog Whisperer..“Stupid bitch,” is his snarling response as he stomps off. My hand falls slack at my side, I swallow all of my feelings, then square my shoulders and follow in his brisk wake toward the entrance.
","August 01, 2023 20:37","[[{'Frances Gaudiano': ""How painful and honest this story is. I'm too blown away to say anything else."", 'time': '19:30 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Cinnamon Girl': 'This is great. I like how honest and real you are about how hard it is. It’s damn hard.', 'time': '06:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Sounds real. Congrats.', 'time': '18:18 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""O,wow. My heart goes out to all of you that have expressed what your lives have been like. May you find comfort in the strength of a loving Father.\nCongrats on the shortlist, Kay.\n\nThanks for the follow. And liking 'Is Anybody Down There'"", 'time': '17:10 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kay Smith': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:01 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kay Smith': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:01 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1t7tj7,Get Your Kicks on Route 66,Murray Burns,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1t7tj7/,/short-story/1t7tj7/,Dramatic,0,"['Funny', 'Adventure', 'Friendship']",16 likes,"
Get Your Kicks on Route 66“You sure about this, Zak?”“A little late for second-guessing, Cal.”The ’55 Chevy was packed to the gills, and the wheels were already rolling out of the driveway of Zak’s parents’ home within a stone's throw of Lake Micigan in Evanston, Illinois.“It’s just such a big step.”“No kidding, Cal, but you’ve had like 50,000 hours to think about it. There’s no turning back, partner. California here here we come!”And so the sky blue Bel Air convertible, tagged with a sign on the back reading “California or Bust!”, headed for East Adams Street in Chicago and its long westward trek along Route 66.----------“You packed all the snacks?”“Everything on your list, Zak.”“Cokes in the cooler?”“Check.”“Pretzels?”“Check.”“Chips?”“Check.”“Red licorice?”“Oops.”“Jesus Christ, Cal, I give you a few simple tasks and you screw it up. How am I going to go 2,000 miles without red licorice?”“Poor baby. I bet someone between here and L.A. sells red licorice.”“Not like the nice, soft chewy stuff at Kandi’s Candy.”“Oh my God, I’ve got two more days of this.”---------“Do you really think we have a chance, Zak?”“As good as anyone trying to break into the business.”“I don’t know, Zak, I’m not sure your cousin living next door to one of the cameramen for the Jack Benny show is what I’d call well-connected.”“My cousin says his neighbor is a really good guy. He’ll take us to one of their rehearsals and introduce us to the man himself. I’ll show Benny some of my jokes, and my cousin will tell him what a funny guy you are. Before you know it, I’ll be writing skits that you’ll be performing!”“I don’t know if it will be that easy.”“And my cousin has a lot of other contacts. He just changed the oil on Phil Silvers’ car, and his wife goes to the same church Walter Brennan’s wife goes to. We’ll have more irons in the fire than you can shake a stick at.”“Shake a stick at irons in a fire?”“Look, Cal, we’ve got to stay positive. We’ll get introduced, and then we’ll blow their socks off with our talent.”“Changed the oil on Phil Silvers’ car? That’s pretty cool.”---------“Stop the car!”Zak slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt on the shoulder of the road.“What the hell, Cal?! What is it?”Cal peered out the window and pointed to a tall, cylindrical object.“I saw it in the AAA travel guide.”“Saw what?”“The world’s biggest catsup bottle…the Brook Catsup Bottle, Collinsville, Illinois. And there it is, and we’re seein’ it, man!”“Oh, my God, you about gave me a heart attack for some freaking catsup bottle?!”“Not just any catsup bottle, Zak, biggest in the world. Let’s get some pics.”----------“You sure you got me in the picture with the catsup bottle?”“Jesus Christ, Cal, the damn thing is like 800 feet high. Yeah, I got you and the bottle, but you’re going to look like a freaking ant in front of it.”“But you’ll be able to tell it’s me, right?”“Oh, for God’s sake. Why would you possibly care if you show up in front of a picture of a catsup bottle?”“Biggest in the world, Zak.”----------“There’s a Standard station, Cal. We better fill up. There may not be another station for a while.”“Thirty cents a gallon! I guess they know when they’ve got us.”“Then can you drive for a while? I’m getting sleepy.”“No problem, Zak, but are you sure we’re on the right road?”“Oh my God, Cal, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s Route 66 the whole way. Not even you could get lost.”“Just making sure. My cousin Chucky says if you ever do feel like you’re lost, just get behind a big truck. Those guys always know where they’re going.”“Oh, my God.”----------Wheelin’ down the open road, top down, released from the bonds of society with the wind blowing in his hair, Cal was piloting Zak’s “Blue Bomber” as they cruised through Missouri. He was so wrapped up in his happy thoughts that he almost missed the sign- “One Mile- Meramac Caverns and Jesse James Hideout”. Jesse James hideout! This was even better than the world’s biggest catsup bottle, but Cal worried that Zak might not be suitably impressed and would object to another unnecessary stop. He approached the subject cautiously.“Zak?”No response.“Zak?”Zak was sleeping like a baby. This presented Cal with an interesting dilemma- wake Zak, ask about stopping to see Jesse James’ hideout and likely be refused, or stealthily maneuver the Blue Bomber over to the historic sight, leave Zak alone in the car with the top down, sneak off to the gift shop to snare a couple of souvenirs, flag down a nice person to take a photo of him, and continue on their journey with Zak being none the wiser. Commitment to the quest and concern for his friend, or a chance to see Jesse James’ hideout?Cal pulled up to the gift shop as the parking lot lights went on. He left the car in a well-lit spot hoping to lessen the chances his good friend would be ridiculed, harassed, or mugged.Sometimes fate can be cruel. Our travelers had paid no attention to such incidentals as weather reports. The first raindrops gently pulled Zak out of a deep sleep; the flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder nearly caused him to hop out of the car. The rain came down in buckets.“Cal! Where the hell are you?!”Cal had their only set of car keys so Zak couldn’t put the top up. He was helpless against the torrential rain and in one final, futile, desperate, pathetic gesture, he threw his body over their snack bag.“Are you mad at me?”“How the hell could you do that to me?! I’m soaked! And my car! The water was six inched deep in here!”“Yeah, it must have been quite a downpour. I was in a cave so I didn’t even know it was raining.”---------It was a source of nearly constant annoyance for Zak that Cal kept flipping through the AAA travel guide. Zak, with some degree of justification, was of the mindset that if they started in Chicago on Route 66 and ended in Los Angeles on Route 66, they would be in no need of a roadmap. But Cal wanted to see where they were, the progress being made, and of course, the scintillating details of upcoming noteworthy sites.“Zak?”“What?”“Would you have any interest in seeing the Bucktooth Tow Truck when we get to Galena, Kansas?”“Shut up, Cal.”----------“God, I love these signs, Cal.”“They’re awesome.”    Your shaving brush…    Has had its day…    So why not…    Shave the modern way…    With…    Burma-Shave----------“There’s a phone booth. I’ll just be a minute.”“I knew you’d miss her, Zak.”‘I just want to make sure she’s ok.”“Right.”Good friends have that extra sense, developed over time and nurtured by concern.“You ok, Zak?”“Yeah…I’m ok.”“You don’t look so ok.”“I’m fine.”“How’s Cathy?”“She’s…well…she was crying. Besides all this, her stupid dog is missing. If I were still there, I’d be out looking with her right now. If I…”Cal understood. Sometimes friends don’t say anything.----------Cal was deep into his AAA Travel Guide.“Judging by your reaction to the big catsup bottle, and the unfortunate incident at Jesse James’ hideout, I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to stop to catch the world’s largest totem pole when we get to Foyil.”“That would be correct.”“We should try to absorb some of the history and culture on our trip, Zak.”“You absorb, I’ll drive.”“Fine. No wonder you’re such an uncouth slob. Zak, are you sure about us getting to see Jack Benny?”The pause was discomforting.“Yeah…I don’t see why not.”Cal was not reassured and wandered off into that unsettling world of second-guessing.----------“I don’t think I can make it to Oklahoma City before we eat, Cal. Anything coming up before that? A Dairy Queen would be nice.”“Oh, are you asking me to check my handy-dandy AAA Travel Guide?”“I deserve it. Go ahead, gloat.”“Let’s see…we’re coming up on Stroud.”“Never heard of it.”“Twenty-five hundred people. There should be a place to eat. I’d rather hit a small-town diner, you know, to enhance the experience of the trip a little.”----------“That was pretty good, Cal, The Rock Café, hamburger, fries, and a chocolate malt. I’m ready to go another ten hours.”“I love diners like that.”“Yeah, and the way you were after that waitress I’m just glad I got you out of there.”“She was a cutie, and you have to like that touch of a Southern accent.”“Just don’t be saying ‘howdy’ to me and hittin’ me with a couple of y’alls.”----------“Damn, Cal, this guy ahead of us is slow, and every time there aren’t any cars coming, we’ve got the damn yellow line.”“Passing makes me nervous.”“You’re telling me? Looks like we have a go. Hang on!”Zak pulled the Blue Bomber out into the passing lane and gunned it. A degree of concern, if not outright worry, always kicked in whenever they were speeding head-on toward another vehicle in the same lane. Once clear, Zak quickly steered the car back into his lane to complete the pass.“Jesus Christ, Zak, that was a little close.”“Yeah…it’s a little hard to judge these things. The guy coming at us must have really been haulin’ ass.”“Maybe a little more discretion than valor next time.”“Agreed.”A little close? Zak's somewhat risky move had just scared the bejeesus out of the family in the oncoming station wagon.----------“Your Dad will get over it, Cal.”“He says this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard of. He blames you.”“Great.”“Yeah, he was disappointed I won’t be joining him in the business. He says building houses may not be glamorous, but it’s solid. That’s the word he always uses for good, honest hard work- solid. He built a nice life for all of us on it.”Zak didn’t respond. His mind was on the search for that darn dog running through the backyards of homes back in Evanston.----------“Damn, Cal, I can’t get any radio stations again.”“No problem, partner, I will sing you a nice song.”This would be close to the one-hundredth time Zak was subjected to the off-key, mercilessly loud, rendition of the iconic tune.“California, here we come…da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da…”“Please stop, Cal. Please.”----------“Tucumcari! I love that name. I wonder how they came up with that for a name, Cal.”“Well, I might be able to tell you. Let me go to my trusty AAA Travel Guide.”“I shouldn’t have asked.”“Got it! This thing is amazing. They say it’s from the Comanche word for ambush. That reminds me, do you know what they called their bathrooms?”“What?”“The pee-pee tee-pee.”“Please stop, Cal. Please.”----------“You know, Zak, I always thought you’d marry that girl someday.”“Me too. Still might.”“You think so? Two thousand miles apart? A lot can happen, Zak.”“I guess. I could meet someone out there.”“Or, she could meet someone back there.”Zak gave that one some thought.---------“This looks good, Zak, the Blue Swallow Motel, pool, TV, radio, telephone, complimentary coffee.”“Damn, I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”“Just wear two pair of boxers, one on backwards . I did that once…but I was five then.”“I’m not going to go swimming in a motel pool in my underwear, Cal.”“Suit yourself. Hey, I made a pun! No swimming suit…suit yourself…get it?”“Oh, my God. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you along.”---------“Do you want to stop for breakfast right away, or should we drive for a while?”“I suppose we should put some miles behind us first, Zak.”“I think those ladies at the pool were laughing at me. They must have known I was in my boxers.”“I thought you were worried about swimming in your undies. And your nonstop cannonball exhibition sure got a lot of attention. I think your wet clingy boxers were turning some of the old dolls on.”“Shut up, Cal.”----------“I think my little brother Joey has a game tonight, Zak. He’s their leading scorer. He’ll be upset that I’m not there.”Zak was slow to respond. He knew how close Cal was to his brother, and he feared the prospect of Cal rethinking the entire adventure.“That’s too bad. I know he looks up to you.”“You should see him handle the ball.”“He’s had a good teacher.”Silence from both of them. So many things left behind.--------“You want to hear some more of my jokes, Cal?”“Not really.”“Ok, so three guys walk into a bar. One is a priest, one is…”“Oh, my God.”---------                                                                                    “I think you just ran a red light, Zak.”“No way. Why would you think that?”“Well, I think the guy in the car behind us with the flashing red lights thinks you did.”Zak wasn’t accustomed to stoplights hanging overhead at intersections, but that’s how they did it in Albuquerque. It isn’t just ignorance of the law that fails as an excuse; it’s also where they put it.“Seriously? You want me to pay half your ticket, Zak?”“Hey, we are on this trip together…partner.”---------“Fill’er up?”“ Yes, thank you, sir, and can you get the windshield? We’re a bug-killing machine. And do have a pay phone inside?”“Yes, we do.”“And a key to the bathroom…”“The kid inside will get it for you.”The frequency of the phone calls did not go unnoticed. ----------“Ok, you’re not impressed with things like a giant catsup bottle or the world’s biggest totem pole, but you’ve got to like this nature stuff.”The red hues of the desert and the formations in the Petrified Forest cast a stunning backdrop for the Blue Bomber as it sailed down Route 66.“For sure, Cal. This is pretty cool stuff. I might even want a few pics of this.”“And according to my road trip bible here, when we get to Winslow, we’ll be within twenty miles of that big crater.”“What big crater?”“Jesus Christ, the giant meteor crater that every kid beyond the 3rd grade knows about.”“I didn’t hear about it. Did it just happen?”“Oh, my God.”----------Same old tune, a little tweaking of the lyrics.“California, here we are, da-da-da…”“Yes, siree! We made it!”The land of promise, the birthplace of dreams, Zak and Cal had arrived at the doorstep.“Four or five more hours to go. There’s no stopping us now!”“You’re sure your cousin can put us up at his place?”“For sure…well, at least for a night or two.”“What?!”----------“How was your call?”“Good, Zak, everyone is fine, and I got to wish Joey good luck on his game. My Dad sounded a little down. He says he sure could use me, but he told me he just wants the best for me.”“It will be ok, Cal. Once we get settled and start working, the past won’t bother us so much.”“I hope so.”Zak was hoping the same.-----------“Hey, we got a real ghost town coming up when we get to Calico. It would be pretty cool to see that.”“Cal, I’d rather take you back to Missouri to see the big catsup bottle than look at a bunch of old, empty, rundown buildings.”“How are you going to be a writer if you have no intellectual curiosity?”“Pull into that gas station, Cal. I see a phone booth.”----------“Everything ok, Zak?”“I…I guess so.”“How’s Cathy?”“Not so good. Cal, I was…”“What?”“Nothing.”An uneasy silence filled the car as they viewed the San Gabriel mountains on the horizon As the Peanuts character Linus has taught us, the anticipation sometimes far exceeds the actual event.----------“The end of the road, Cal, the Santa Monica Pier.”“I see… Zak, remember when we were pulling out of your parents’ driveway, and I asked if you were sure about this?”A hint of a smile appeared on Zak’s face.“Yes, I remember.”“Well, would it upset you if I asked you the same question now?”Now a big smile.“No, Cal, it wouldn’t bother me at all. I miss her, Cal.”“I know you do, and I miss everything.”“To be honest, Cal, you’re not that funny.”“And your jokes aren’t that great, Zak. I just never wanted to offend you.”                                                                                                      “Cal, do you think it’s legal to make a U-Turn here?”“I don’t know why not.”Zak executed a quick U-Turn.“Well, it was a nice dream while it lasted, and a pretty good trip.”“The trip’s only half over, Zak!”“You’re right, Our glasses are at least half-full.”“ Zak, shouldn’t you call your cousin?”“Uh…I sort of don’t need to.”“Why’s that?”“He didn’t know we were coming. It was going to be a surprise.”“Oh, my God, Zak.”“All’s well that ends well.”“I guess. Let’s get rollin’.”“We’ll catch it all this time, Cal! The big crater, the biggest Tee-Pee in the world, your stupid catsup bottle again…and pictures, lots of pictures!”“And lunch at the Rock Café with the cute waitress!”And now…a duet. “Evanston, here we come, right back where we started from…da-da-da, da-da-da,da-da-da-da-da...""                                                                                                                                                                                                                                
","August 02, 2023 15:57","[[{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'No place like home. Great job, Murry!', 'time': '17:19 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': 'Listening to it going east. Good show.', 'time': '06:56 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Priceless.\nThanks for liking my little road trip, too.', 'time': '17:22 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,nvp86a,In the Passenger Seat,K. Espinola,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nvp86a/,/short-story/nvp86a/,Dramatic,0,"['Horror', 'Friendship', 'Suspense']",16 likes,"
It seemed that, even in death, Jared liked to drive. As Casey sat beside him, she told herself to keep her eyes on the road. Sometimes her brain liked to split in two: the mature side, with the good advice, and the lethally curious one that enjoyed, deep down, to be shocked. Now the mature voice was saying: Don’t fill your head with that crap. Looking will only upset you. But it was the other side that always took action. So she let her eyes wander to him, the man in the driver’s seat.Or was he a man? Casey didn’t always know how to classify what he’d become– an animated corpse, a shell that kept moving long after the soul had fled. Somehow, the spirit wasn’t entirely gone. If it were, the thing beside her wouldn’t still have her cousin’s mannerisms, his stiff posture at the wheel. His slight tic, a peculiar squeeze of his eyes here and there.He drove as though it were a lingering thing, how a chicken still walked around after its head had been severed, or how sometimes the audio persisted for a second or two after Casey closed a video app. Something about Jared remained, still powering the motions, while almost everything else had changed. Taught, peachy skin had turned droopy and grey. His eyes had gone watery and yellow– a little too much like Jell-o, Casey realized with queasy regret– while his dark hair had begun to shed, rubbing off against his seatback in patches. His body was mottled with oozing patches of purple and green. Casey, very slowly, reached up and pulled a pack of Marlboros from the sun visor. Beside her, the window was open about an inch and that would have to do– not that she fully minded the smoke; it was better than suffering Jared’s smell. But she didn’t dare touch the door. As she lit a cigarette, she tried to organize the past few days. To meditate on them. There was little else to do at this stage.She didn’t dwell too long on the virus– most people who had any interest in pop culture had thought enough about the idea of an undead apocalypse. Now, it almost seemed realistic, easy to process. Though, she would admit that the origin of the plague had been a bit unexpected. It had come from a new kind of strange fish discovered and captured from the deep sea, and the genius who had decided to give it a kiss for a photograph. He’d caught something that had rotted him in days then quickly spread to others through his bites and saliva. Casey’s family had died on the way to Granby, Colorado where they’d all hoped to meet with their extended relatives. She’d arrived alone to find only Jared. Though she felt guilty about it, she’d been relieved it was him. Of the cousins, he was her favorite; they were about the same age and had both gone to space camp in elementary school. She blew smoke. It was a good effort, she thought. Really, a great show. Attagirl. Her inner voice was sardonic, but there was some truth there. She felt as though they’d done their best. Nobody had been foolish or short-sighted. She’d been blessed with a good family, one that fought their hardest for each other, and they’d given their all. And sometimes that just wasn’t enough. Sure, she supposed she could still be the one to carry on the genes but… What to do about Jared?Her eyes fell upon the angry slash on his forearm. They’d talked about it a few times then decided it was safe. It hadn’t come from one of the undead prowling America but from an exposed nail on a fence they’d climbed to escape a hoard. Still, somehow, something must have gotten into the wound. They’d hopped into their truck, and Casey had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. When she’d awoken hours later, there was this monster still driving… driving… driving… driving. Stuck in the act. At first, it seemed like luck. She hadn’t been devoured while she dozed; he hardly seemed to notice her. His hands were on the wheel, and his gaze was glued to the road. Most of the time. Casey had learned miles ago that, if she moved as though to touch the passenger door, he’d jolt from his trance and stare at her, ready to lash out. It had terrified her into stillness, the way people froze up when they saw a mountain lion. When she settled back into her seat, he regained focus on the road. So she sat rigidly, not doing anything a good, normal passenger wouldn’t. Not removing her seatbelt or turning around to get her supplies in the back. Never EVER touching the door. This was to be a pleasant little road trip, alone with a zombie. The truck rumbled down the interstate, through mountain passes and under vibrant sky. Casey had grown up hiking and exploring. As a kid, with her nose a pig snout against the window, she’d once thought that the mountains looked like layered cake. They still did– rusty shades on grey ones, natural slices of flavor all under the snow-frosted mountaintops. A big ol’ wedding cake.  Above, the Colorado sky was a riot of morning colors— cotton candy pink with wisteria purple and popsicle orange. A bird, a big one, flew across the sunrise shades. And, when it got close enough, Casey could see the unmistakable white head of a bald eagle. “Look, Jer,” she said. “‘Merica.” He would have laughed. He always laughed at stupid jokes like that. Now he drove, drove, drove, drove.Silence, but her comment lingered in her own mind. It made her think of spangled flags and fireworks and then, of course, the 4th of July when her family used to gather at the Granby house. They’d grilled and played cornhole and toyed with sparklers. She took a drag from her cigarette, then said, “You don’t have to worry about my mom’s ambrosia salad anymore, at least.” Casey had always thought ambrosia was aptly named (the mythological food of the gods), but Jared had hated the stuff. He hadn’t even liked to be in close proximity to it, always getting a little pale and carsick-looking when seeing it on the table. Casey had learned the hard way that she couldn’t eat it across from him, especially after he’d stuffed his face with ribs. It had been a shame to have to throw away her favorite Skechers, but she hadn’t been able to get the barbecue vomit smell out of them. The worst thing was that, over these past few hours, Casey had come to consider how often she’d done stuff like that to Jared. Pushing him, prodding him. Testing out the things that made him ill or anxious or embarrassed. Hell, a week after the ambrosia salad incident, she’d turned on a program about moths right when she knew he was about to come inside. He loathed the little pests– a hatred birthed from the minor plagues of moths that sometimes hit Colorado during the summer; they got everywhere, in the coffee cups and curtains. Inevitably they got squashed, leaving dusty carcasses and yellow goop on the carpet. Jared always said that, if he saw one, he’d feel it crawling all over him for the rest of the day. But Casey had liked to see him squirm. Back then, she’d seen herself as a prankster. Of course, she loved her cousin with all her heart, but she couldn’t help her fascination with people’s phobias and icks. Looking at Jared now, she felt less scared than sad. Saddened that his big green eyes and thick curls had been taken from him, mourning his voice which could do a dozen good impressions of movie stars and cartoon characters, missing her best friend. What about the future they’d drafted out together? How they’d promised to cheer loudly at each other’s weddings and visit Russia when they both turned thirty? Now it just wasn’t possible for them both to publish novels, set in the same universe they’d made together. But, more than she lamented particular things they’d lost, she regretted certain things that had been. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” said Casey, leaving her cigarette in her mouth and letting it muffle the words. “I really wasn’t the best cousin.” She could smell the rancid odor of puked-up ribs and potato salad on her shoes again. Now, it was her sensing the moths on her arms and legs, the back of her neck. She considered that she was being hard on herself, that none of these things were really that bad, just the nonsense that kids did to each other. But it was difficult not to nurse the sadness. It was hard to be kind to herself in a situation like this, where her world was over and lost and she hadn’t always taken very good care of it.Jared only drove and drove and drove.So, was this it then? Would she be there in the passenger seat until she succumbed to hunger and thirst and time? No. The thought hit her suddenly, like a cuckoo clock striking the hour. She peered over at the gas gauge, a fortune cookie that defined an end and was stingy with the details. An ominous timer.  Twenty-five miles remaining.
","August 03, 2023 02:55","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Really suspenseful story, keeps you guessing till the end, also sort of emotional at the same time!\nKeep it up!, you have a cool writing style, hoping to read more stories written by you!', 'time': '14:39 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'K. Espinola': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '11:23 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'K. Espinola': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '11:23 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Rachel Eligon': 'I love this story! It\'s a very interesting take on the zombie apocalypse. I like that you take something cliche and make it fresh by focusing on the emotions rather than the gore and the action. The anecdotes and emotions you painted really made me feel sad that Jared was ""gone,"" and the struggle of grappling with that while being right next to him is such a cool angle. I also enjoy that it also retains a slight creepiness/ horror element, especially in the last line!', 'time': '19:33 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'K. Espinola': 'I appreciate it!! I’m glad you liked the concept of it— I was wrangling with how to make it work, and it’s nice it hit some of the emotional points I wanted it to.', 'time': '19:43 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'K. Espinola': 'I appreciate it!! I’m glad you liked the concept of it— I was wrangling with how to make it work, and it’s nice it hit some of the emotional points I wanted it to.', 'time': '19:43 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,l8idhi,I never felt so much alike,Luca King Greek,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l8idhi/,/short-story/l8idhi/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Romance', 'Sad']",16 likes,"
TW: His Dad is a bigot, and it shows in his language.I’m just leaving Harrods on Brompton Road when a skinny young man waves me down. He’s wearing a white shirt, light gray suit, and he’s empty handed, so I figure he’s probably in the money business, going to the Square Mile.I twist in my seat to face the passenger, “Where are you headed, guvnor?”.He consults a piece of paper, “Saint Mark’s Place, off Wimbledon Hill….”.I’m stumped for a moment, “Isn’t there an old brick pub there? The… the Alexandra?”“Yes, that’s right!” says the man, surprised. “How long do you think?”Putney Bridge, the Park, Beverly, Malden, I visualize the route, “forty-five minutes, this time in the morning”. I poke the cab into traffic and look at him in my mirror. “Did you know that there are sixty-seven roads and streets named after Princess Alexandra, but there’s only one pub?”He’s Asian, with delicate features, very dark eyes. I feel a familiar sadness, it wells up from my belly into my chest. +++Jenny Patel was in the same year as me at school, but in another class. A tall sinewy fine-featured Indian girl with shiny black hair drawn back tight in a ponytail, and dark, dark black eyes.  Like most of the immigrant kids she was almost invisible, head-down, a serious student, and I didn’t pay much attention to her until one day she got a mention in assembly for a first-place finish at a district athletic meet. It hadn’t crossed my mind that Asian kids could be good at sports.One day Jenny waved to me in the lunch queue, said hello to me in the corridor, smiled at me outside the cloakrooms. Elizabeth Hicks, who lived round the corner from me, told me that Jenny’s mum died a year earlier. I might have felt sorry for her, I suppose, but mostly I was worried that she might get pulled out of school, all of a sudden, just like Priya Sharma. +++I dropped off my Wimbledon fare, looped back north toward the river and got flagged down by a young lady heading to Blackfriars. We hit roadworks at Battersea, so I crossed the Thames at Wandsworth, went up through Pimlico and drove past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, which I thought she might appreciate.“Ever wonder why taxi drivers call them the gasworks?”, I ask, but when I look in the mirror I can see her tonsils. She’s nodded off in the cage.+++Priya Sharma was a goodstudent, always had her nose in a book. A poem she wrote was honored in a nationwide competition, sad and beautiful verse about an imagined pet cat. Even the boys applauded.One day Priya’s desk was empty, and we saw Miss Clarke, the English teacher, sobbing in the corridor, outside the classroom.Hanging onto a strap, on the W8 bus, going back to Enfield town after school, Elizabeth spilled the beans for me. Priya was sent back to India for an arranged marriage to a man in his 20s! She was only fourteen and we never saw her again. +++Another off-and-on. All-American, all-business, leaving a shiny glass office block down by the river. “Threadneedle Street”, he said. He whipped out one of those new flip-phones, pulled out the antenna and started jabbering away to some unknown person in some unknown place, not paying attention as we drove past The Monument down Fleet Street and along The Strand. I pressed on in silence towards the Bank, just a bit lonelier for a moment.+++Elizabeth is arm in arm with Jenny near the chain-link fence at the edge of the hockey pitch, and they are watching me as I jog over to join the football team for practice, they’re giggling. I feel awkward under their gaze.” Jenny thinks you have nice legs!”, shouts Elizabeth, joyfully announcing it to the entire world.I started avoiding Jenny. I mean, what else could I do?  I backtrack down corridors, I hide around corners, I make stupid detours which make me late for lessons. I do everything I can to avoid a chance encounter and the dreaded eye-contact.+++Near St. Paul’s I pick up an old man who looks like an academic, or a writer, or maybe a clergyman in mufti. Destination: Hamstead Heath, the intersection of Highgate and Croftdown roads, where there are more plaques than there are houses. I think he might like some numbers. “Did you know that it’s the biggest green space in the city, nearly 800 acres?”.He knew. +++I couldn’t avoid Jenny forever. One day she caught up with me in a corridor near the science labs.“Why are you avoiding me, Neville!”, she grabbed my arm and made me look at her.I was shocked by her appearance, “Why are you blue?”, I said. There was a turquoise tinge to her skin.“Better than being brown!”, she said, which sounded bitter and cruel at the same time. “I mean, why is your skin died blue?” I asked.“That stupid prick Burton threw ink into the pool during girl’s swim team practice”, she said, looking in my eyes with a ferocity that had nothing to do with the subject of discussion. I felt like she was looking inside my brain, “You look like a goddess”, I said, shocked at my own words. Her gaze softened, she smiled with perfect teeth. She was so beautiful that I felt like I might melt into the floor right there and then.“Like Vishnu”, I said, fumbling around for something to say.She stomped her foot, “Neville, you are such an idiot”, she said, “Vishnu is a god! He's male!”++++“Portobello Road, please”, asks the old biddy, who's dressed in a tartan skirt, looks like she’s been rambling across the Scottish Highlands.I wait for her to settle in the seat, “Did you know that Portobello Road was named after a naval battle in the war of Jenkin’s ear?”“Pardon?”, she replies.“Exactly”, I chortle. “Admiral Vernon, seventeen thirty-nine. He won the battle, but we lost the war”. Time flew, but the cab got stuck in heavy traffic in Bayswater, and I told her not to bother with a tip.++++Reverend Peters was a drunk who lived in a mobile home down near Brimstone Road, near the power station. Rumor was that the headmaster kept him on at the school as an act of charity.  He had a combover.It was in his class that Vishnu appeared on the page of a book as a blue-skinned beauty, adorned in a bejeweled sari that barely concealed her contoured voluptuousness. Dainty hands disposed in almost a saintly way, coils of black and gold hair, thick lips, heavy lids over dark eyes; a vision of such loveliness that it seemed to move things inside me. I think the good Reverend would have been appalled by my state of mind as it drifted from the text-book, to idle daydreams about girls in swimsuits, girls in the gym, girls in athletic bras, and Jenny running around the track. +++A four hander, four yobs in Adidas gear. They jump onboard at Hampstead and want me to take them east to Tottenham, not far from my old school. There’s no football match (it’s a Friday), so I can’t figure out what they’re about. Likely lads, loud and a bit obnoxious with the smell of beer on their breath, so I watch them carefully in the mirror, reminding myself that London has always had its ruffians. I wonder if they will just leg-it when we get to White Hart Lane. I figure they don’t much care about the Knowledge, so I keep schtum. +++The specific origins of the Knowledge are a bit murky, lost in the mists of Victorian London, but it is said that the much-feared test of memory was devised in response to the ineptitude of London’s cabbies during the Great Exhibition of 1851, when London was inundated with thousands of tourists and dignitaries trying to make their way to Crystal Palace. Overwhelmed by complaints, the authorities instituted a test of memory for aspiring cabbies, and it is largely unchanged in the 150 years since. Most candidates take five years to master the Knowledge, or so they tell me, but I did it in a year. We lived here and there, hopping from rental to rental, before we settled in Enfield town. I explored each new area, first on foot, then on my bike, until slowly the villages, towns and boroughs formed a mosaic in my head. When I was a teen, I graduated to public transportation, and the entire city unfolded like a gigantic story book, opening up in every direction, bound at the seams by the thread of history: the romans, medieval monks and kings, Tudor estates, regency splendor, Dickensian slums, and the Blitz. 25,000 streets with 25,000 stories, and I think I know every one of them. Even before I decided to be a cab driver, I would drive around the city in my Datsun, looking for stories. Looking for Jenny too. ++++I got lunch, a sausage sandwich with a mug of tea at a small café in Bloomsbury. I picked up a “Flight”, a ride out to Heathrow Airport.  I hate the A4/M4, especially the Flyover; it’s a concrete scar across Hammersmith and Chiswick, not really part of the story book.+++I live alone in a flat on Muswell Hill. I don’t want you to think that I am obsessed with Jenny or that I’m some kind of sad sack, like Eeyore. I watch Spurs home games when I can, I meet some regular blokes down at the pub once or twice a week, and I go fishing on the River Lee now and then.  I’ve had girlfriends, and I nearly got married a few years back. I told the poor girl that the cab broke down on the way to the registry office, which wasn’t true, and she said that she would forgive me, which also wasn’t true. +++It’s rush hour. A suit jumps in the cab and needs to get to Kings Cross in a hurry, he’s catching a train to Peterborough. I cut off a white Renault and make a quick right turn into St Pancras Road. It’s a short trip, he gives me a big tip and runs into the station, a cathedral of imperial pomp surrounded by metal and mirror-glass cubes with a bit of 60's brutalism thrown about. If Prince Charles ever ventured out from Buck House, he’d have kittens.+++A crusty old toff is on the TV, prattling on about immigration policy and ""rivers of blood"".My dad is sitting in his armchair, drinking lager from a can. “These darkies are taking over our streets and neighborhoods, destroying property prices”.Mum rolls her eyes.""And don't even get me started on this Common Market nonsense, or the miners' strike, or..."" he's on one of his rants, and he hasn't even hit the bottle yet.I go up to my bedroom to work on my train set. Ziggy Stardust is playing on the transistor radio.+++A pair of spritely pensioners enter the cab, a cock and hen. They’ve come to town to see a play at the Haymarket. The old geezer asks me if I’ve ever had any celebrities in my cab, so I rattle off a list of names… footballers, politicians, pop stars and actors. “Was Charlton Heston handsome?”, asks the woman, “I loved him in ‘Here to Eternity’”, she says wistfully.It starts to rain, a light summer shower. The roads are slick. +++I think I saw Jenny once, a few years back, walking down the High Street in Wood Green, but the traffic was bad, and the one-way system threw me around a loop, forcing me away from the shopping center. I parked the cab behind the Woodman pub, hurried on back to the pedestrian area, looking in every shop, down every side-street, hoping I’d see her.+++It’s Friday night, the crowds are out. Stag and hen parties, pub crawlers and confused tourists swarm Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. Over at the West End, it’s a ritzier crowd, sports cars and limos clog the roads near posh restaurants, penguins outside Park Lane hotels are accompanied by women in sequin dresses, clutching small shiny bags.+++It was summer, we’d just graduated from Edmonton Comprehensive. I received pass grades for my two A Levels so maybe I’d get an offer from a university, maybe I wouldn’t. I felt a bit lost. I got a temporary job at Waisetts and Strek, delivering fancy foods, imported juices and snacks to shops and restaurants in and around Soho. I bought a blue Datsun 240z, with go-faster stripes, souped-up by the boy-racer around the corner, Elizabeth’s older brother.I didn’t have a girlfriend, but at least I had a car, boosting my prospects, though how, I still wasn’t quite sure.  My friend Colin was a regular co-pilot as we explored town, but he was a bit of a loser like me, and his head seemed much too big for his body, which might frighten off the girls I thought. “Did you get some beers!” he said getting into the car, “This might be the last time we see them”. I started driving down the road, a bit unsure as to where we were going.“Liam’s house is on Chase Avenue”, said Colin.“Off Windham Hill?” I asked.“You should be a cabbie”, said Colin, nodding his big head appreciatively. +++I pulled up to the taxi rank on Shaftesbury, about 9.45pm, just before the theater burst. I was dreaming a bit, mesmerized by kaleidoscopic light reflecting off the wet road-surface. A gift from my city.+++Liam lived in a big house; a dark green Mercedes parked outside his detached home. Wall-to-wall carpets, a wood laminate Hi-Fi system, a large collection of albums, sorted by band name. There are scores, maybe hundreds, of hardbacks in a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. I couldn’t even see the TV. Liam was leaving for university next week, like half the kids at the party. He told me to put the beers on something called “an island” in the kitchen. “Hello Neville” and my heart skipped a beat, maybe two.  Jenny was in the kitchen, leaning against the door jamb, obstructing the opening to the garden. She was wearing Army Surplus fatigues and a dayglo X-Ray Spex T-shirt.“Jenny”, I said, surprised. “Jinhu”, she replied.“I’m sorry. Jinhu”, I said, “that’s a nice name. Is it Hindu?”“No, it’s an old Scottish name. My family is from Aberdeen”, she laughed.“No way! I thought you were from India!”, I exclaimed.‘Neville, you really are an idiot!”, she laughed. “We’re from Uganda.”“What Idi Amin? That stuff?”“Yeah. That… stuff””, she paused. “Come with me”, and she stepped outside, beckoning me to follow her, like a dog. I would have followed her through the gates of hell.“Why did you ignore me at school?”, she asked, pulling me down to sit next to her on a wooden bench. I could feel her bony leg against my thigh.“I didn’t ignore you”, I said.“Then I don’t understand. You do know that I was interested, right?”, she looked at me.“But you aren’t now?”, crestfallen, I sensed an ending.“Neville, you are such an idiot”.My head was light, almost spinning, she reached for my hand, made me look her in her eyes, and then she kissed me, and the world, and everything in it, changed color.Colin came out to get me, beer in hand, but he turned on his heel and went back inside, and Jenny laughs.+++I pick up a yuppie couple that need a ride back to their flat overlooking Camden lock. I should get home before midnight.+++Colin was drunk, and I wanted to abandon him outside Liam’s house, but Jenny looked a bit disappointed with me, and I knew she was right, so we pushed him headlong onto the tiny back seat of the Datsun. I was a bit irritated, and Jenny was amused.She was vague about her address, and I figured that she was probably embarrassed by her living circumstances, living with her dad and all, so we set off for the Finsbury Park area, without a specific destination. When we got to Harringay, close to the dog track, Colin started moaning and heaving.“Let’s stop” said Jenny, “I can walk from here. I can cut across the park”.We got out of the car, I hauled Colin to his feet, and he promptly threw up into a hedge.“Jenny, please don’t go!”, I pleaded. “You can’t leave me with Colin, not like this”. “Neville, it’s OK”, she said, “I will see you again tomorrow, or Sunday”. She came over and kissed me again, “tomorrow”.It was the last time I ever saw her. +++I hate the end of the day, when the lights go out and London goes to sleep, when the punters are gone, and I am alone with my thoughts and the Knowledge seems useless baggage in my brain.I pull up at a stop sign as I get close to home, a woman runs up from behind, along the deserted street, and she bundles into the back of the cab, panting. I probably should tell her that I’m finished for the day, but it’s late and it’s a dangerous part of town at night. Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do. “Where are you going, young lady?” checking the side mirrors to see if there’s someone chasing her.“Can you take me to Finsbury Park?”, says the woman. It’s a familiar sounding voice.I jolt into wakefulness, “Where in Finsbury Park?”, I search for a face in the mirror.“Oh, anywhere near the park will do!”, she says.A police car drives by, blue lights flashing.In the mirror I catch a brief glimpse of a blue-skinned Indian woman, fine-featured, dark, dark black eyes.   
","August 04, 2023 00:53","[[{'Graham Kinross': 'Great story Luca. You wrote from the heart. Interesting bio btw.', 'time': '09:40 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Luca King Greek': 'Graham, thank you. Best!  Luca', 'time': '11:35 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Graham Kinross': 'You’re welcome. Would you mind having a look at my latest story Comprehensive Superhero Insurance? Thank you.', 'time': '22:25 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Luca King Greek': 'Will do!', 'time': '00:18 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Graham Kinross': 'Thank you.', 'time': '00:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Graham, thank you. Best!  Luca', 'time': '11:35 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Graham Kinross': 'You’re welcome. Would you mind having a look at my latest story Comprehensive Superhero Insurance? Thank you.', 'time': '22:25 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Luca King Greek': 'Will do!', 'time': '00:18 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Graham Kinross': 'Thank you.', 'time': '00:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Graham Kinross': 'You’re welcome. Would you mind having a look at my latest story Comprehensive Superhero Insurance? Thank you.', 'time': '22:25 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Luca King Greek': 'Will do!', 'time': '00:18 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Graham Kinross': 'Thank you.', 'time': '00:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Will do!', 'time': '00:18 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Graham Kinross': 'Thank you.', 'time': '00:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Graham Kinross': 'Thank you.', 'time': '00:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Hey Myranda,\nVery thoughtful comment.  Thank you.\nLuca', 'time': '18:21 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Myranda Marie': 'I remained intrigued throughout, wanting more somehow; more stories, more memories, more knowledge. I know when I am driving my thoughts often wander into my memory, usually prompted by a song on the radio or a familiar location, but I am not this complex. Well done.', 'time': '18:03 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ian Patterson': 'A slice of life that felt completely real, nice work!', 'time': '13:06 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Luca King Greek': 'Hey,\nThanks Ian.  Means a lot to me!\nLuca', 'time': '13:22 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Hey,\nThanks Ian.  Means a lot to me!\nLuca', 'time': '13:22 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kate Bickmore': '👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻', 'time': '15:27 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,v3c1om,Seven Series Saloon,Chris Miller,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v3c1om/,/short-story/v3c1om/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",16 likes,"
	The car was stifling, so airlessly warm that Martin could smell the static tang of the new plastic interior. He’d let it get like that on purpose, stuffy and stagnant, despite the cold blasting against the two-millimetre-thick steel skin as he bucketed down Route Three towards Zurich. He’d wanted it to be cosy so Clare could sleep, but now he opened his window. Just a dab on the switch to let an inch of the world whistle in and chase away the soporific fug of body and nylon. This wasn’t the time for him to start feeling drowsy, and he wanted her back with him, wanted her company as they approached the outskirts of the city.
 
	The air was cold and solid with speed. The violence of the rain-flecked rush caused him to look at the speedometer and ease down from 152 as his wife stirred beside him. He smiled and composed himself, ready to pretend that he had maintained a steady 110, having resisted the temptation to hoof the Seven Series since she’d fallen asleep on the outskirts of Basel. He was enjoying the huge German car. He would have liked to bring his own VW, but they had decided to fly to Paris and rent a vehicle for the onward trip so that Clare could catch a flight straight home from Zurich. 
 
	The Seven Series was indulgently expensive, but, true to the ad-man’s word, it was giving him sheer driving pleasure. They had laughed as they approached it, accompanied by an employee of the rental firm young enough to be one of their grandsons. Clare had intended to drive the first leg, to get them out of Paris, always the cooler of the two in more complicated traffic. Martin was determined to have a go behind the wheel of the executive beast, but was content to wait until they were on the open road. Incorrigible Brits, they had both opened their respective doors before it occurred to them that they had rented a left-hand-drive. They had walked laughing around the car, crossing in front of it, stopping briefly next to the bewildered boy in his liveried fleece to share a head shaking smile. Martin even passed Clare the sleek fob, as if it was the key of the Beetle they had borrowed from her mother in 1973 to go on their first adventure, and the little silver spike would be needed to begin the patient process of firing up the twenty-five reluctant horses.  
 
	“Sorry, love. I didn’t want to fall asleep. How long ‘til Zurich?”
 
	“Don’t worry, Pet. About half an hour.”
 
	“Are you feeling ok?”
 
	“I’m feeling fine. This thing has got a bit more welly than your mam’s Beetle.”
 
	It was late one night in the parked Beetle that Martin and Clare had first shared a moment that would have made Jagger blush. Unfortunately, the porch light had come on and the moment had also been shared with Clare’s nightgowned grandmother. Martin’s heart had nearly stopped as he locked lidless eyes with Clare’s mother’s mother who, without missing a beat, had whipped off her glasses and turned to grope blindly for the light switch, putting everyone back into merciful darkness before Clare had even looked up. Martin had liked German cars, and Clare’s grandma, ever since. 
 
	Grandma had died in 1986. When she got too tired to deny that she was ill, and too weak to ignore it, she succumbed with an unfussy dignity in a briefly occupied hospital bed. If Grandma had been the model, Martin’s father had been the late-night-tears-and-piss warning. Choose your time while you’ve still got time to choose it. Or risk inadvertently choosing the heavy blue plastic mattress and a life held in the rubber-gloved hands of empathic mercenaries. No. Martin had chosen a week in Paris and a top spec. saloon to drive himself to Zurich. It was important that he drove himself. 
 
	“Is there anything else you need me to do?”
 
	“No, love. Everything’s ready.”
 
	“Are you ready?”
 
	“Yes. I really am. More than I thought I would be.”
 
	The main artery from Basel to Zurich had branched and narrowed and now they entered the capillary system that fed their hotel, guided by the Seven Series’ calm satnav. The car was powerful, but safe as milk. Martin half wished he’d rented something oily and analogue. Part of him wanted a tricky clutch pedal and a tape deck. A go-faster stripe and bulging wheel arches. The last time he drove could have been the first time he was Steve McQueen. He could have made tyres squeal and picked up a fine he would never pay. But no, he looked at his beautiful Clare and was pleased she’d dozed, reclined in the serenity of an executive passenger seat, in a vehicle more expensive, and only slightly smaller, than their first house. Suddenly Martin missed cars with ashtrays, and the world in which they had been a standard feature. He longed for the feeling of having a pocket full of heavy, thick coins and telephones that clicked and whirred on the end of wires that tethered them to blown-vinyl walls. But no. He had been there and felt those things and their loss was not what he felt now. What he had lost was the future that lay ahead of him when he had still lived in a world of Bakelite and VHS tapes proudly displayed on a bookcase. The future that lay ahead of him now was short. 
 
	His last drive was only one of many lasts that he had consciously undertaken since he had made his choice. The period between now and his appointment tomorrow – he looked at the precise digital readout of the car’s clock – just over twenty-two hours, would be a condensed procession of previously unimagined last-times. He saw himself in the hotel room, little plastic brush in hand, scrubbing away for the last time at reasonable-for-seventy-three teeth, sag-chested and spotted in front of the harshly lit wall-sized mirrors that hotel designers seem to think their guests demanded. He laughed at the absurdity of it. A spontaneous, selfish laugh, and then stopped, pulled up by the thought that it would be his last. 
 
	“Are you ok, love,” said Clare.
 
	“Yes, pet. Are you?”
 
	“Yes. More than I thought I would be. What are you thinking?”
 
	“I was just worrying about whether I’d packed my toothbrush or left it in the hotel in Paris.”
 
	“You silly sod.”
 
	They laughed together, more united than ever in the absurdity of it all. The feel of the leather covered wheel, the responsibility of guiding the car the last few hundred yards to the hotel car park stopped Martin’s laughter filling his heart altogether and metastasising into anything harder to handle in moderately busy city traffic. But Clare’s laughter came with the last-time catch of a tear that couldn’t be blinked back. 
 
	“It’s ok, love. It really is.”
 
	“I know.”
 
	“The boys have got their letters. Everything’s going to be ok.”
 
	“The boys will be fine.”
 
	“You’ll be fine.”
 
	They were in the parking garage now. Under the hotel in Zurich, a short walk from the apartment they would visit together the next day. The last place they would ever be together. 
 
	“Did you enjoy the drive?”
 
	“I did.”
 
	Martin pressed the button and the engine stopped. 
 
","August 04, 2023 10:22","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Nice writing style and a very emotional story!', 'time': '14:29 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Sarah. Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '17:25 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Sarah. Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '17:25 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': '*clutches heart* \nWonderful, Chris. And the engine stopped.', 'time': '19:57 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Nina. \n\nGlad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.', 'time': '20:05 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Nina. \n\nGlad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.', 'time': '20:05 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Great Chris. Everything is revealed only when it needs to be and it all makes sense. The nostalgia part is particularly hard hitting. A life well lived and appreciated. Can't ask for more than that at the end."", 'time': '07:04 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': ""Thanks, Derrick! I'm pleased it works. Hopefully it suggests some things that I don't have the skill or space to write. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment."", 'time': '07:37 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': ""Thanks, Derrick! I'm pleased it works. Hopefully it suggests some things that I don't have the skill or space to write. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment."", 'time': '07:37 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Very nice! Nostalgia and finality, and meeting that ultimate question head on and with full awareness. \n\nI think what works excellently here is the pace the information is provided to us. Zurich could mean anything, but we only learn what Zurich means here, midway through. Suddenly the whole point of the trip, and how much weight it carries, becomes clear. \n\nThe meditations on lasts reminded me of stories I've read about death row - the key difference of course being, here it's a choice, and there it's someone else's choice. But in both case..."", 'time': '20:37 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': ""Thank you, Michal. I was tempted to throw the kitchen sink at this one, but tried to keep it relatively short and restrained. I hope it implies more than it says. I suppose that's always the hope! \n\nAt the end, what would be the point focussing on yourself when your self was was soon to be no more?\n\nThe death row comparison is a really good one. My third story on Reedy, Efcharisto, was about a condemned man and it throws up so many of the same issues. \n\nThank you for reading and giving it your usual level of consideration. Much appreciated."", 'time': '21:08 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Miller': ""Thank you, Michal. I was tempted to throw the kitchen sink at this one, but tried to keep it relatively short and restrained. I hope it implies more than it says. I suppose that's always the hope! \n\nAt the end, what would be the point focussing on yourself when your self was was soon to be no more?\n\nThe death row comparison is a really good one. My third story on Reedy, Efcharisto, was about a condemned man and it throws up so many of the same issues. \n\nThank you for reading and giving it your usual level of consideration. Much appreciated."", 'time': '21:08 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Heavy stuff here. Lifted high.', 'time': '14:40 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Mary!', 'time': '17:14 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Mary!', 'time': '17:14 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Wow. The last trip, the memories, the hinted at cancer through very clever descriptives, Zurich, assisted suicide? So much to praise here buddy, it flowed so well, put you in the mindset of the MC and was rich in a beautiful melancholy. \n\nExcellent entry.', 'time': '10:37 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Kevin. Not sure I got the tone quite right, but it sounds like it works ok. Thanks for reading. Your comments are very much appreciated.', 'time': '10:56 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thank you very much, Kevin. Not sure I got the tone quite right, but it sounds like it works ok. Thanks for reading. Your comments are very much appreciated.', 'time': '10:56 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,hr2njw,Unspooled,Shahzad Ahmad,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hr2njw/,/short-story/hr2njw/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Contemporary', 'Funny']",15 likes,"
The car zipped through the treacherous turn.“Are you crazy? Stop the car, leave us on the road! Life is dear to us if not to you!” Tania fumed.“Ok, darling. I’m so sorry. I was swept away by the melody of the song and transferred the same energy to the accelerator.” Zafir apologized.“This ‘sorry’ word I hate; I don't know who invented this word! You disregard an emotion and then walk away with it. Please do not use this word again, at least not with me!” Tania extended her rant.“Remember, we are supposed to be on a trip, not a slanging match.” Faran chipped in, in a matter- of- fact way.Both Zafir and Tania were mortified and didn't speak a word for a while.The car glided on. It was meandering through the mountains with towering hills on both sides. The hills were rocky and barren without a trace of verdure. However, even the barrenness had an element of grandeur; a sense of pride and authority that seemed to have drawn from its enormity and permanence. Also, their presence stood out in the landscape as a lofty monument holding an undisputed crown over other natural features.“I remember the same act of apology that you managed to extract from your so called ‘guilty conscience’ last year. We were spending a few weeks at my parents’ house and you marched out of the room when my sister came. When I reacted, you immediately quietened me with your overflowing sentimentality. That’s why I hate this word.” Tania was just unstoppable.Zafir thought he had stirred a raw nerve and put himself in a pretty defenceless position.“Look at the furry goat standing on top of the hill. Doesn’t it look beautiful?”“Don’t try to change the subject.” Tania called his bluff.Zafir was speechless. He knew his wife won’t stop now, so the best strategy was to suspend communication.“Why have you become a resident of the graveyard, all of a sudden? Don’t you have anything to say? Tania taunted.“Yes, actually I was concentrating on the road. There are barricades on either side of this stretch of the road, thus squeezing the space for manoeuvre. Zafir made a horrible attempt at diversion.""Ouch, my foot! I asked you to buy me a pair of comforting sandals. You do not have even 1 rupee to spend on me whereas you splurge on your friends.”“This is not the case at all and you know that!” Zafir protested.“I am feeling hungry.” Faran said with a degree of annoyance.“There are some chips that are lying on the back side.” Take them, Tania advised.“Ok that will do, thanks.” He searched for the chips but the suit case lying next to the pack of chips broke open and all the clothes flopped to the floor of the car.“Can’t you do things without upsetting other things?” Tania roared. “You are like your father always messing up things even when offering a helping hand.”“I think I took the wrong turn.” Zafir chimed in.“Have you ever taken the right turn in your life? It reminds me of your sullen behaviour when we went to Islamabad with my friends. All the time you behaved so sulkily. Why do you go to a place if you do not want to put a merry face? It was so embarrassing for me but you have got nothing to do with my emotions. I am just like a servant who needs to be bossed around and when it comes to the satisfaction of my needs, even trifling ones, it becomes impossible for you to fulfil and then you make tall claims of keeping me happy! Why can’t you shed this façade and be straight with me. What’s the purpose of driving if you can’t navigate! Faran, give me the map on the mobile. If I leave it your father’s hands, we will only reach our destination in a month’s time if not more and there is no guarantee if we reach at all!""“I think, I deserve some better assessment.” Zafir frowned.“On the contrary, I think you will fail the next driving test. How on earth did they pass you? I think they must have been blind. Now do as I tell you!” Tania retorted.""Take the next turn on the right. It is still 5 km away, so keep driving straight for a while. I’ll remind you once you come within striking distance.”“Ok, thanks for this huge favour.” Zafir just nodded his head as a mark of disapproval.Eventually, the turn came and the car did some course correction.“Faran, remember to study the last 2 chapters of history when you come back. You have become so lethargic. You need to pull up your socks to stand any chance of getting a distinction.”“Papa, I am supposed to be on a fun trip not an educational one!"" Faran protested.“What's this way of dealing with your child? You seem to be unduly angry with him. You are putting him down for no reason. He did so well in history. How can your memory be like a sieve? You forget things so fast and your son handling is a blotch on fatherly care. You are good for nothing!”“I was only reminding him of the things to be done.” Zafir defended himself in a poor way.“But your timing is so wrong. You bring in numbers when we talk of alphabets and bring in alphabets when statistics are the name of the game! When will you act like a true father?”The car took a swerve as Zafir lost control of it trying to complete his statement.“Please do one thing at a time. You are not a multi tasker as you wrongly claim to be. Remember how you tripped and wasted the whole wok of gravy and rice while trying to communicate on the phone. It cost us dearly. Do not try to step out of your limitations. Please, while driving concentrate on the car and do not speak."" Tania sounded instructive. “But just now you taunted me for my lack of speech.” Zafir retorted.“Timing honey, timing! You don’t seem to have a sense of timing.” Tania held her head in her arms and closed her eyes while uttering this statement.Zafir knew the limits had been crossed and he desparately wanted to calm things down. Fate timely intervened to help his cause.“A police car just signalled me to stop.” Zafir said with an air of indifference.“Are you sure? Tania enquired“Yes the headlight just beeped at me.” Zafir replied.“Then pull over.” Tania advised.Zafir pulled over and the policeman approached with a stately demeanour.“Your back side window glass is pasted with sight blocker cover. It is not allowed.” The police officer explained.“But it is translucent not completely covering view.” Zafir tried to justify.“Even this is not allowed.” The policeman averred.“Give me your ID card and license.”He hesitatingly gave it but requested for reconsideration.“Rules are rules; Non-negotiable.”“Why on earth did you put on this cover?” Tania asked in a complaining tone.“I thought translucent covers are legitimate.” Zafir shrugged.“See, now you have incurred another fine. I could have used this money to buy my bangles.”Tania blurted out a scream again and held her foot in her hands.“Oh, my foot has swollen. You don’t even take me to the doctor.” Tania groaned in pain.“Ok, don’t worry, we will head towards the first doctor that I come across, when we reach our destination”. Zafir tried to reassure her.By that time, evening had started to replace the brightness of the afternoon and a layer of orange had slowly made its way to the horizon. The change of texture of the sky also had its effect on Faran as he dozed off into a seemingly pleasant dream.“This is our last ride together before we part ways. You have to live with Faran for almost 4 years. There will be brief episodes of reunion but this is pretty much the end of that long lasting togetherness at least for the next 4 years, so let’s make the most of it.” Zafir suddenly adopted a tone of seriousness.""Yes, I agree, we have had our moments, haven’t we? There have been squabbles but they were neutralized by the whiffs of tenderness that emerged from unexpected quarters” Tania also seemed to have softened her tone.""I thank you for all the support you have provided me in making me the person that I am today. There were moments when I lost interest in life only to be revivified by your warm embrace that brought back the dying sparks of my enthusiasm. My non- expressive nature always stopped me from acknowledging this energy but today I am making a candid admission about your contribution.” Zafir continued as if held in a trance.“Why didn’t you express it in the first place? Things could have been rosier, ruddier and more romantic if you had expressed it before.” Tania seemed to complain but even in that complaint there was tenderness.“I believe I was afraid of myself. I have a nature that loves to privatize its thoughts and actions. They are tightly sealed in the compartment of my heart and I exert myself to ensure that the keys to this confinement even remain hidden from my curious glances of inquiry.” Zafir tried to explain the logic behind it.“All that time I believed you were cold and detached with no feelings at all but this revelation startles me! At times, I tried to search behind the crust of deadpan expressions but was often misled and it all ended in making me even more confused.”Zafir looked at his wife and a wisp of a smile erupted on his face. Tania reciprocated. Just at that moment of sublimity, Faran squeaked.“Why didn’t you stop for chips at the coffee shop?”“It was daddy once again who dropped the thought from his dismissive memory.” Tania retreated into her combative mode.This evoked a chuckle from Zafir. The car slickly moved some distance closer to its destination as starlight spangled the sky.
","July 31, 2023 10:06","[[{'Helen A Smith': 'Zafir’s wife is constantly on at him about everything!  \nThe stresses of a car journey are well depicted here. Zafir seems  more of a dreamer than his practical wife. Her snipe about the graveyard has a comical ring. \nThe poor man can’t seem to win, but then for people who always want things right this dreaminess can be irritating trait.\nThere is beauty and grandeur in the scenery which is missed by someone focused on the irritations. \nI enjoyed your dialogue Shahzad.', 'time': '08:40 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen for your elaborate critique and  for pointing out merits of the story. I am so happy to find out that you liked the dialogue as I really tried hard to make it count. May God bless you and your stories.', 'time': '20:00 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Helen A Smith': 'I definitely saw an improvement in your dialogue.', 'time': '20:02 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen, it really encourages me to continue working towards honing my craft as much as I can.', 'time': '20:04 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Helen A Smith': 'I think you are doing and will continue to do so. It’s hard work this writing business, but can be rewarding.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen for your elaborate critique and  for pointing out merits of the story. I am so happy to find out that you liked the dialogue as I really tried hard to make it count. May God bless you and your stories.', 'time': '20:00 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Helen A Smith': 'I definitely saw an improvement in your dialogue.', 'time': '20:02 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen, it really encourages me to continue working towards honing my craft as much as I can.', 'time': '20:04 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Helen A Smith': 'I think you are doing and will continue to do so. It’s hard work this writing business, but can be rewarding.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Helen A Smith': 'I definitely saw an improvement in your dialogue.', 'time': '20:02 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen, it really encourages me to continue working towards honing my craft as much as I can.', 'time': '20:04 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Helen A Smith': 'I think you are doing and will continue to do so. It’s hard work this writing business, but can be rewarding.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Helen, it really encourages me to continue working towards honing my craft as much as I can.', 'time': '20:04 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Helen A Smith': 'I think you are doing and will continue to do so. It’s hard work this writing business, but can be rewarding.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Helen A Smith': 'I think you are doing and will continue to do so. It’s hard work this writing business, but can be rewarding.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Well said. Thank you and may you also continue to grow as a writer.', 'time': '14:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Straight into the action Shahzad. An enjoyable tale, the dialogue stands out most for me.\n\nGood job 👍', 'time': '17:15 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Kevin. I am glad you liked it. Good luck with your stories.', 'time': '17:50 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Kevin. I am glad you liked it. Good luck with your stories.', 'time': '17:50 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hi Shahzad!\n\nLoved the start - right into the action!\n\nFrom the get go, the dialogue feels very boxy, like, robotic, and maybe that’s the affect you’re trying to lay down … I’m continuing to read!\n\nOuch, so called guilty conscience :) “Why have you become a resident of the graveyard…” instead of “Wow, why are you a ghost?” Or something. Again, kind of robotic, but very intriguing - it’s driving me on, in fact, pushing me to wonder who these people are as I enter the mid-section of the story …\n\nOMG Zafir’s companion/wife? (Tania) is very obno...', 'time': '17:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Russell for your acute observation of the different dimensions to my story.  \nYou seem to have analyzed the story bit by bit and pretty effectively too. It will help me grow as a writer. Good luck with your stories and deep appreciation of your insightful analysis. May God bless you.', 'time': '21:36 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Russell for your acute observation of the different dimensions to my story.  \nYou seem to have analyzed the story bit by bit and pretty effectively too. It will help me grow as a writer. Good luck with your stories and deep appreciation of your insightful analysis. May God bless you.', 'time': '21:36 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes, some of the best and some of the worse come out when confined on a long car ride.', 'time': '17:15 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Mary for your comment. You are always the first one to do it. I appreciate your kind gesture.', 'time': '18:02 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'I have you on my follow list then I look under stories to activity to see new posts from people I follow.', 'time': '18:20 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks for following my stories. May God help you with your stories too.', 'time': '19:21 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Mary for your comment. You are always the first one to do it. I appreciate your kind gesture.', 'time': '18:02 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I have you on my follow list then I look under stories to activity to see new posts from people I follow.', 'time': '18:20 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks for following my stories. May God help you with your stories too.', 'time': '19:21 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I have you on my follow list then I look under stories to activity to see new posts from people I follow.', 'time': '18:20 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks for following my stories. May God help you with your stories too.', 'time': '19:21 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks for following my stories. May God help you with your stories too.', 'time': '19:21 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,rqcxrl,Lollipop,Seah Kim,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rqcxrl/,/short-story/rqcxrl/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Funny']",15 likes,"
Lint-rolled lollipops are delicious.
 
There’s absolutely no other satisfaction when you take your “Cherry flavored” lollipop at a low price of 3.99 a bag from Walmart and gnaw it (rebelling from your mother is the best way to get cavities and fulfill your hunger), and drop it on the floor of your crust covered Honda Civic, as starting fights is the number one thing siblings are for.
 
You make an “I’ll kill you” face at your sibling (whether or not they notice,) because your mother doesn’t allow “potty words”. 
 
Going against the tightening strain of the cursed seatbelt, your grubby hands reach for the lollipop. It’s not enough. You would love to brag that the candy was at your fingertips, but alas, you are missing a good foot and a half before you reach the ground.
 
Damn this safe prison seat.
 
You look back at your sibling, who is staring densely at the phone screen. You give her another “I’ll kill you” face for good measure. 
 
You say your mother’s superhero call (“mom,”) multiple times, until she sighs (which is a clear sign that she is ready to come to your rescue) and turns around.
 
“What is it, David?” 
 
Here’s your cue. 
 
“Lollipop! Lollipop!” You say, pointing at your sister (you need to set up a clear accusation) and then the floor, where your candy is resting.
 
You hope that you gave your mother enough details, since there is no more story to continue on, and the lollipop is still not in your hands. 
 
Your mother sighs again. She gives you the eyes. That pitiful gleam that leads you to wonder whether the sympathy is for you or her. 
 
“What am I going to do with you?”
 
The words do not comfort you whatsoever. 
 
Good god. Save my lollipop!
 
It has now been a couple minutes since you have lost your candy. 
 
Your mother then picks up the thing, (The vibrant, red color of the lollipop is now speckled with grays and browns and even some long strands of blonde.) 
 
“I blame my sister for this!” You want to tell her. However, you know that your attempts will go unnoticed because your mother’s gaze is locked with the lollipop. She is inspecting it, but there is no need. It’s obvious that it's a piece of candy, it is your piece of candy, and you are growing impatient as the seconds tick. You gaze longingly at the cherry lollipop, stuck between the tips of your mother’s fingers. 
 
The fingers promptly start moving again. Good. 
 
Only, it seems to be moving in the wrong direction.
 
Your mother’s long fingers (much longer and bigger than yours, darn it,) is laced around the lollipop and, from your “eagle eye” viewpoint on the baby car seat, the hand and your precious cherry lollipop is heading towards the plastic bag curled underneath her feet.
 
This is not good news whatsoever. What is your mother thinking? You’ve only ever seen things go into that dreadful gray plastic bag when they are finished with - (such as water bottles that no longer harbor water, books that have been “improved” by your disgusting sibling during the car ride, and your leftover PB&J crusts.) 
 
It's a part of the car that your parents call “The Trash.” 
 
Your mother couldn’t be putting your candy into that bag, could she? 
 
“Twash?” You ask your mother, trying to believe that your mom will smile, shake her head, and assure you, “of course not,” as if you’ve made the funniest joke.
 
“Yes, David.” Your mother says, not bothering to look at you. Her hand is now inches away from the trash bag. 
 
“Twash!” You scream, wiggling in your seat. Once more, you have fallen victim to the horrendous seatbelt. 
 
“Yes baby, trash,” Your mother says, seemingly agreeing with you. Does she not hear your cry for help? You will not tolerate such behavior. 
 
“Twash! No!” You try to lunge, try to grab the lollipop you worked so hard to make so tiny and small and smooth and sparkly (although the sparkle was lost long ago when your idiot sister dropped it.) 
 
But it's too late. All that effort seems like nothing to your cruel mother. She, without even flinching, relinquishing your prized possession. 
 
You wicked woman!
 
You cannot believe what your mother has just done.
 
Have you no shame?
 
Sadness and pity, for yourself and the now lost lollipop, gathers in your eyes and starts to slowly make its journey down your face. You know that an avalanche of sadness is coming, and don’t want to make any effort towards stopping it.
 
Your mother notices this too, and shows alarm. Maybe she feels guilty, or regrets her decisions.
 
“Oh god, no… Not another one,” Your mother is now frantic, searching for something in her bag.
 
What do you think you’re going to find in there? You want to ask. You just threw away my life’s work and now you think you can magically restore it? 
 
Your anger is all built up. Your body is trembling, and the only thing that probably restrains you from popping out of your seat is the damn seatbelt. 
 
I hate everything!  You think, cursing this car and the world. What did you do to deserve this pain?
 
You continue to fume. Now your pent up anger and tears are bubbling towards the breaking point. You open your mouth, and squeeze your eyes shut.
 
You’ve made a grave mistake, mother! You warn her using your eyes, which are crowding with all the kicking, screaming, and distressed bawling to follow in the following minute.
 
“Here, honey, here!” Your mother almost throws her hand towards the back of the car, reaching out as quickly as she can. You don’t care much for any of that, because suddenly, you notice the object tightly gripped in your mother’s trembling hand.
 
A new, (less shiny) piece of unwrapped candy.
 
You were wrong. Terribly wrong. It was not she who had made a mistake, it was you for ever doubting her intentions. How neglectful you had been! She was not a wicked woman here to inflict pain, but a savior. 
 
She reaches out to you and blesses you with the repeated joy of receiving another candy. This time, it is watermelon flavored. 
 
So it’ll be a diverse meal, you think. You are grateful for her thoughtfulness. 
 
You are now incredibly satisfied. You even begin to like the seatbelt.
 
It’s like a little hug, you decide. A bit tight, but we all do love tight hugs. 
 
Feeling generous, you glance at your sister’s screen, wondering what she is watching. 
 
Life is good.
 
“That! That!” You exclaim, clapping your hands excitedly. Although clueless when it comes to actually identifying what the “that” is, you still laugh whenever she laughs to keep up with her. 
 
However, despite your efforts, she completely ignores you. She only interacts with you to tell you, with a firm voice much like your mother’s,
 
“Stop it!” 
 
Stop? You pause. You think about the depth of those words. Is she 
 
“That! That!” You tell her once more, reaching out with your stubby arms and tapping her screen. Now you are putting your absolute best into enjoying the show with her - going this extra mile must make her enjoy your company now.
 
Instead of being met with the same generous kindness you had blessed her with, she contradicts all of your efforts. All of a sudden, her head swiftly turns, and her arm is heading towards yours.
 
“Stop it!” She nudges you back over to your seat. 
 
It’s more of a push, you would say to anyone who listens. You were being so kind and generous and you even watched her show with her, but that ungrateful sibling of yours tried to bring you down.
 
Thankfully, you didn’t receive any injuries. However, when your sister aggressively banished you back to your seat, she smacked your hand away - the hand gripping your most prized possession.
You look at the floor, already stained a bit pink from the previous catastrophe. 
 
The candy you worked so hard to receive again, to return to its wondrous round and glossy pink globe, is laying on the floor.
 
Lint rolled lollipops are delicious. 
 
","August 05, 2023 03:47","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Funny and adorable story!\nI like how you humorously captured the pov of a kid!', 'time': '14:51 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Harp': 'The only confusing aspect for me is the child leaves the seat toward the end but the lollipop was out of reach in the beginning because they were locked in the seat. Am I overlooking something?', 'time': '01:22 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Seah Kim': 'Yeah, I think I worded it in a way where it could be misunderstood. Basically, the child and the sibling are close to each other in where they are sitting - by ""leaving their seat"" I mean they reached over to the side a little to interact with their sibling. (It\'s not as far of a distance as reaching for the lollipop which is why I said that.) I hope it clears it up.', 'time': '01:32 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Martin Harp': 'Ah thank you for the clarity, I was picturing it much more literal in my head!', 'time': '01:41 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Seah Kim': 'Yeah, I think I worded it in a way where it could be misunderstood. Basically, the child and the sibling are close to each other in where they are sitting - by ""leaving their seat"" I mean they reached over to the side a little to interact with their sibling. (It\'s not as far of a distance as reaching for the lollipop which is why I said that.) I hope it clears it up.', 'time': '01:32 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Harp': 'Ah thank you for the clarity, I was picturing it much more literal in my head!', 'time': '01:41 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Harp': 'Ah thank you for the clarity, I was picturing it much more literal in my head!', 'time': '01:41 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'This was really funny Seah! I’ve written from the perspective of my kids before and it’s a blast. Welcome to Reedsy! :)', 'time': '17:57 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Seah Kim': 'Thank you for the kind message :) I tried taking my story from a new and (very dramatic) perspective :D', 'time': '18:31 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'Young ones do have a tendency towards the very dramatic lol. Some never outgrow it. 😝', 'time': '22:14 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Seah Kim': 'Thank you for the kind message :) I tried taking my story from a new and (very dramatic) perspective :D', 'time': '18:31 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'Young ones do have a tendency towards the very dramatic lol. Some never outgrow it. 😝', 'time': '22:14 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Young ones do have a tendency towards the very dramatic lol. Some never outgrow it. 😝', 'time': '22:14 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ub73m6,Sunk and Found,Tsvi Jolles,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ub73m6/,/short-story/ub73m6/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Romance']",14 likes,"
Lisa lowered herself into the shotgun position of the pristine Ford Mustang, her heartbeat keeping a wild cadence of incredulity and awe. The rich leather seats, the dashboard gleaming like a well-polished heirloom, the potent fragrance of untouched machinery all swirled around her like a summer whirlwind through a field of magnolia blossoms. Perhaps it was the sheer unexpectedness of the gift, a stark contrast to the customary religious tokens she received from her family. This Mustang, this embodiment of American prowess, was devoid of familial ritual, yet brimming with promise and excitement.
	""George, I ain't sure I can accept this,"" Lisa murmured, her voice scarcely louder than a butterfly's wingbeat. She cast a sidelong glance at the man who had evolved to be more than just a neighbor. A man who bore enough years to be her father, yet viewed her as an equal. His eyes sparkled with a mix of joviality and a paternal-like pride. ""Seriously, George,"" she reiterated, ensuring her voice carried the gravity of her sentiment, ""this is too extravagant.""
	He shrugged, his face unfolding into a grin as guileless as a Georgia peach basking in summer's embrace. ""You've been hankering to kick up some dust, to loosen the hold of this Hiawassee homestead, ain't ya?"" George drawled out in his smooth Southern timbre, his gaze, sharp as an eagle, tracing back to the serpentine road ahead. ""Well, now you've got the steed. Now you’ve got the wings.""
	""But, George, I ain't ever driven anything worth more than a couple of grand!"" Lisa blurted out, her words cascading rapidly and urgently, like wildflowers tossed about in a spring wind.
	""Really?"" George's eyes shimmered with mock surprise. ""Well, sugar, we’ll just have to remedy that, now won't we? I can guide you, be your beacon. We'll start around Lake Murray. It's as peaceful as a Sunday morning sermon, just the ticket for a gal getting her first taste of a high-class automobile.""
	A hush unfurled between them until Lisa's stern expression melted into a warm grin. Her thoughts drifted to her father, and how he had urged her to forsake the driver's seat after a harrowing accident that had shattered his body and nearly claimed his life. He returned to the road about a year later, yet persisted in persuading her to avoid driving unless necessary. Those memories felt distant now, far enough, safe enough, she reasoned. ""Alright, George,"" she relented. ""Let's stir up some dust. I reckon I'm game.""
	""As we're hittin' the road, sweetie, don't forget, you're holdin' the reins,"" George advised, his voice as steady and firm as an ancient live oak standing tall against a tempest. ""This here Mustang's your workhorse, not your master. Now, lightly step on that gas pedal, easy as Sunday mornin'.""
	“I ain’t saying I haven’t steered a car before, George. Just that…”
	“Well, honey, you might as well think of this as your first rodeo.”
	The car came alive beneath her hands and an immediate wave of pride washed over Lisa. She was doing it. She was taking the reins of her own steed.
	The route around Lake Murray proved an apt training ground for a novice Mustang driver. To one side, the lake's tranquil waters shimmered under the lazy sun; on the other, the verdant canvas of pines painted a classic Southern portrait. This picturesque scene, chosen by George, served as the backdrop for Lisa's foray into what he considered authentic driving. His approach, characterized by a mix of paternal pride and patient mentorship, made this more than just an ordinary drive.
	As the fresh-off-the-lot Ford Mustang purred quietly beneath them, Lisa's hands rested lightly on the wheel, while George navigated her, patient as a saint, along the winding country roads. The sun started its descent, splashing the lake with splashes of gold and pink, a sight of beauty that could only be painted by a Southern sundown.
	Suddenly, a figure on the road ahead drew their eyes. A man sporting a rough and tumble beard, leaning on a staff, ambled across, his pace steady as molasses. Lisa couldn't help but let out a laugh at the sight. ""Looky there, George,"" she chortled, ""Might be ol' Moses himself, tardy to his gig of partin' Lake Murrray.""
	George gave a deep belly laugh at Lisa's jest. ""Got yourself a right funny bone, ain't ya?"" he asked, his eyes creasing up in amusement. ""Your kinfolk, they're Jewish, ain't they?""
	Lisa nodded in affirmation, taken aback by his astute observation. ""Yeah, we are. How'd you piece that together? I thought I'd been pretty successful in keeping that under wraps throughout our conversations up until now.""
	George just shrugged, his eyes dancing with a hint of a secret. ""Your little quip 'bout Moses got my gears turnin',"" he confessed. ""Always had a hankerin' for puttin' a body's past together, ain't been wrong yet. Got a sweet spot for history, like a puzzle waiting to be pieced. Intriguing, don't ya reckon?""
	His question lingered in the air like the hint of winter in a fall breeze. Lisa's grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles bleaching as white as churned buttermilk. ""Uh, yeah. It’s right interesting… The past,"" she responded, her voice shaky, a sharp departure from the earlier light-hearted banter.
	No sooner had the words slipped out than she jerked the wheel to starboard, and her foot clamped down on the gas. George's eyes went as wide as a harvest moon as the car charged toward the lake, the calm evening turning into a whirlwind of disarray. The last thing he could recall was the terror etched on Lisa's face, before the world was swallowed by the cold, murky waters of Lake Murrray.
	The Mustang plunged quick-like into the water, their bodies caught up in an uncanny underwater dance. Lisa and George's eyes met, shared panic etched in their gazes. Their breaths escaped in bubbles, each one valuable as it slipped away.
	Desperate, George scrabbled at his seatbelt, his movements lethargic in the water. He caught sight of Lisa doing the same, fear warping her features. At last, the seatbelts gave way, and they swam for the surface, pushing against the downward drag of the sinking car.
	They breached the surface, sucking in lungfuls of air, the cool evening wind prickling their drenched skin. They glanced at each other, then back at the trail of bubbles marking the Mustang's watery grave. A cocktail of shock, fear, and lingering adrenaline kept them buoyant as they swam to the nearby bank.
	Once they scrambled onto the shore, wheezing and shivering, George managed to turn his gaze to Lisa. Her eyes were saucer-wide, her lips moving without a sound. ""I'm... I'm sorry,"" she finally breathed out, her voice hardly more than a whisper. The sinking car, the brush with death, and the guilt merged into one crushing wave. “I sure wish this was my ol' beater. It'd do it some good if it was. Now, I ain’t sure what to say. I ain't never sunk a whole car before, let alone a new'un. What did you say the make was?”
	“She was a Ford Mustang,” George replied in a parched tone.
	“Reckon they're insured, right?”
	“Only if you’re behind the wheel.”
	“I can work and pay you back. I can do that.”
	“How much you pull in as a writer?” George inquired.
	“Not much but…”
	“I reckon that'll barely cover hauling it out of the lake. Anyhow, I don’t want you fretting over it. It was meant to be a gift and I reckon I let your thoughts wander and didn't watch you close enough driving a car you ain't familiar with… this is on me. Let's let bygones be bygones and hightail it out of here. I'll ring up my insurance once we get home, sounds fair?”
	In silence, they began their slog towards George's homestead, a good two miles yonder, their clothes clinging to them, sodden and weighty. Lisa was shivering, torn between the cold and the shock. Barely able to utter a word on their trek, she found it hard to follow George’s sparse conversation. She simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other, until, after what felt like an eternity but was probably closer to an hour, they arrived at his house, leaving the swallowed car in its watery grave.
	The homestead was a picture of Southern grace, with a welcoming wraparound porch and a front garden kept as tidy as a Sunday suit. Inside, George led Lisa to a guest room. He handed her a towel and a bundle of clothes, carrying a faint trace of sage and a womanly perfume. ""These belonged to my wife,"" he clarified. “I reckon I mentioned she left a few months back, but I don't know if I told ya she left plenty of her clothes behind. Leastways, the ones she didn't have no use for anymore.""
	As she changed, Lisa's eyes roamed around the room. It was tastefully adorned, with sprinkles of femininity here and there. On a dresser sat a picture frame housing two strapping young lads, both handsome and bearing a striking likeness to George. The label on the frame read 'Benjamin & Ian.'
	Stepping out of the guest room in dry clothes, Lisa found George in the kitchen whipping up some cocoa for her. ""Your sons,"" she began, gesturing back towards the guest room, ""They're in the picture in there. Look like sharp cookies.""
	George looked up, a faint smile playing at his lips. ""Oh, Benjamin and Ian? They got their wits from their ma,"" he confessed. He ladled the beverage into two mugs and handed one to Lisa.
	Nursing their mugs, they settled into the living room, the home's coziness driving out the lingering cold from their bodies. ""What came to pass, George?"" Lisa asked, her gaze landing on another photo of George and his wife, their grins reflecting happier days. ""If it's alright to ask, I mean.""
	George took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ""Yeah, it's alright,"" he murmured. Gina and I were hitched for thirty-five years. We had a good run. But in the end, we drifted. Different hankerings, different dreams. Found ourselves bickering more than we were laughing. Wasn't helping either of us.""
	His gaze shifted to Lisa, his eyes brimming with a cocktail of regret and acceptance. ""Parting ways this late in life ain't what we had in mind. But life don't always play nice with plans, does it? The key is, we're trying to stay civil, for our boys' sake.""
	The room descended into quietude, save for the faint murmur of the house settling. Lisa regarded George, a fresh understanding blooming. Beneath the jovial exterior was a man wrestling with the pangs of a marriage concluded and a life rerouted, all while attempting to keep up a brave front.
	""Appreciate you sharing,"" Lisa said, reaching out to hold his hand, offering a morsel of comfort. 
	Then came a ring on the phone that George chose to answer out on the porch. He stepped back in a few minutes later, brandishing his phone. ""They're fixin' to have me present when they haul the car out,"" he elucidated, donning a jacket and a hat before heading back towards the front door. He tossed Lisa an apologetic grin. ""I'll be back directly.""
	He took off in haste, leaving Lisa all by her lonesome in his house. She meandered around, taking in the family pictures lining the walls, the neat piles of books in the living room, and the plants tenderly looked after on the windowsills. This was George's life, she thought, her heart moved by the genuine warmth and familiarity that permeated the house.
	The doorbell roused her from her musings. She went to open up, expecting perhaps a neighbor or a package delivery. Instead, she found herself eyeball to eyeball with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to an older, more weary version of the woman in George's wedding photo.
	""Gina?"" Lisa queried, a hint of surprise in her voice.
	The woman nodded, looking equally nonplussed. ""And you are?""
	""I'm Lisa. I'm a friend of George's. He's... not around at present,"" Lisa explained. She could see Gina's eyes darting around the room, taking in her damp clothes hung up to dry, the mugs of cocoa half-drunk, the casual familiarity of the scene.
	""You're more than just pals, ain't ya?"" Gina inquired, her voice trembling a touch. ""I should've known. He's already movin' on, ain't he?""
	""No, Gina,"" Lisa cut in, scrambling to dissolve the conflict. ""George and I, we just crossed paths a few days ago. At a coffee spot. We're just acquaintances. Nothin' more. I just ended up sinkin' the car that he... the car... I mean, it took a dive, so we needed to swap out our soaked clothes and…
	It was clear from Gina's eyes that she wasn't buying what Lisa was saying.
	Before Lisa could muster another word, Gina spun around, leaving her standing solitary. Lisa remained fixed in place, her eyes tracking the retreating form of the older woman until she vanished from view.
	By evening, George pulled up at the house again, pulling in another brand-spanking-new Ford Mustang. Lisa, who'd been perched on the porch, leapt up in surprise.
	""George, you got it fixed already?"" she queried, staring at the car in disbelief.
	George shook his head, laughing heartily. ""No, Lisa. Mendin' a car ain't as swift as switchin' a porch light. This here's a borrowed beauty. Got the day to figure if it's a keeper or not.""
	Lisa bit her lip, guilt flooding her once again. ""I'm sorry 'bout the car, George,"" she said, her voice laden with remorse.
	George gave a carefree shrug, his grin as steady as ever. ""Automobiles come and go, Lisa. What matters is you're safe and sound. We could've met our maker in that lake. Reckon it's a nudge from the cosmos, a sign to remember what's worth our holler. Kinship. Folks sharing moments. We sure ain't gonna forget our little escapade, now are we?""
	His laid-back demeanor shifted when Lisa told him about Gina's visit. His face dropped, and he grew quiet, his mind seemingly grappling with the news. The air around them tensed up, and for the first time since their adventure started, Lisa felt ill at ease.
	""I reckon... I reckon I oughta bunk at a hotel tonight, George,"" Lisa said, shattering the silence.
	“But why? No! You should stay…”
	“I'm feelin' a bit... I've had my fill for one day. Need a spell alone.”
	George peered deep into Lisa's eyes, not pushing back. He just gave a nod, acknowledging her need for some breathing space. He offered to chauffeur her to the hotel, the journey a far cry from their earlier wild ride. Lisa could sense the tension threading the air between them, and she put forth her best effort to lighten the mood. She shot a glance at the shiny new Mustang, gifting him a small, amicable smile.
	""It's a splendid car you've got there, George,"" she remarked. ""I'd bet you're keepin' it.""
	George just nodded, his focus on the road. When they got to the hotel, he helped her with her luggage and said his goodbyes, promising to check in with her in the morning. 
	As he drove away, Lisa sat on the edge of the hotel bed, twirling a pen in her hand. She looked at the blank notebook in front of her, the words refusing to form. Her mind was filled with the events of the day – the sinking Mustang, George's broken marriage, Gina's accusing eyes. She felt like a storm had swept through her life, leaving her dazed and disoriented. 
	She reached for her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the dimly lit room. She dialed her father's number, her heart heavy. As she listened to the familiar rings, she realized how much she missed the simplicity of her old life, her family, her home.
	""Lisa?"" Her father's voice echoed through the phone, a comforting balm to her turbulent emotions.
	""Hey, Daddy,"" she began, injecting a joviality into her tone that she didn't quite feel. ""How are you faring? Have you been keeping up with your medication?""
	There was a pause before he replied, ""We've been better, pumpkin. Your momma and I, we miss you. It's been a while since you visited.""
	His words hit her harder than she had anticipated. She blinked back tears, her throat tightening. ""I know, Daddy,"" she responded, her voice barely above a whisper. ""I promise I'll visit soon. I just need to fix something in my car.""
	She heard her father let out a sigh. ""Are you still getting around in that old clunker? Have you thought about investing in a new vehicle? They say the latest models are far safer.""
	Lisa chuckled. ""I don't believe in new cars, Daddy,"" she said. ""They're trouble.”
	She could almost see her father's puzzled expression at her words. ""Alright, pumpkin,"" he said. ""We'll be waiting.""
	She ended the call, her mind filled with a newfound determination. She realized then that her place was not here, meddling in George's complicated life. Her place was back home, among the people who loved her, who needed her.
	She would go home, fix her car, and maybe even find the inspiration she'd been lacking for her first children novel. And perhaps, in time, she'd be able to reconnect with George, on terms that didn't involve sinking cars or complicated relationships. Maybe they'd find a way to preserve their friendship, while also respecting the old ties that bound him to Gina.
	For now, though, she would focus on the journey ahead, driving down the familiar southern roads in her old car. She scribbled down these thoughts in her notebook, the words flowing easily now. The storm had passed, and now, she was ready to face the dawn.
 
","August 04, 2023 15:13","[[{'Leland Mesford': 'Great characters', 'time': '02:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Martin Harp': ""Glad to see I wasn't the only one who thought about a sinking car!"", 'time': '01:04 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tsvi Jolles': 'Great minds sink alike.', 'time': '12:15 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tsvi Jolles': 'Great minds sink alike.', 'time': '12:15 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Little confusing about the relationship. Where did Lisa's luggage suddenly show up from after her needing to borrow Gina's clothes? Where was her car in the first place? This all happened after having coffee at a shop?"", 'time': '17:17 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,mvcl6n,Canned People,Jorge Soto,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mvcl6n/,/short-story/mvcl6n/,Dramatic,0,"['American', 'Fiction']",13 likes,"
The bus was screaming down the desert road, and I still couldn’t nod off. Two fucking hours and somehow this greyhound seems to have made no progress toward any discernible civilization. A few shacks and shanty gas stations sprung up here and there, sure, but I’d hardly venture to call them signs of life. Just as I was about to put in for another crick-necked nap a wall of little buildings flashed past the window. Finally. Some scenery.” I thoughtA blurry mirage of washed-out yellows and earth tones made up the majority of this dilapidated stretch of town. Boarded-up Knick-knack shops dispersed between dinky Chinese restaurants and starkly furnished real estate offices. A pizza parlor, flanked by two used car lots, zoomed past, its patrons piling out of it and back into a camper van. Who the hell eats pizza in 100 degree weather? We stopped at an intersection, and I sat up. I analyzed the charming wasteland further. To begin, it looked haunted. Not like in the usual paranormal sense I mean, but haunted, instead, by the town's previous administration. A mural of a smiling old local official peaked out from behind a nearby graffitied wall. Across the street, a campaign billboard, partly weather-beaten and peeling, watched over a humble Mexican taco shop. At the corner store, a foldout sign displaying the handsome mug of a lawyer, which had been ‘artistically’ embellished by a marker, sat on a burning sidewalk. I wondered if the newly mustached counselor got many clients from this desert Mecca. As the bus crawled to 15 mph, it rounded a corner and proceeded its slow roll down another part of town. Greyhound was the last company to convert its fleet of vehicles to the hydro-electro standards imposed federally in 2039. Though cleaner in emissions, the bus interiors are just as germ-filled as always, and they still turn like fat boats. On the nearby street, a bearded bald man strolled out of an army surplus store, carrying an armful of camo-textured treasures back to his truck bed. On the other side, some more dive bars and taco shops dotted the length, but what really grabbed my attention were the foreclosed buildings. First, I recognized that several appeared to have been tattoo parlors at one time. My final count came out to about 8 of the sort. 8 failed tattoo shops. Were the people of Twentynine Palms undergoing a spiritual reform? I don’t know what was more unusual, that so many nearby tattoo shops had closed down, or the fact that there had been such a preponderance of them in one town in the first place.The question wouldn’t be allowed much time to linger. A moment later, I realized they weren’t alone. Massage parlors, dry cleaners, liquor stores, tailors, and the crowning majority, barely overtaking the tattoo joints in quantity, were the barbershops. All in excess, all closed down, and all in a questionable proximity from one another. I was stumped, stupefied even. What was this town, and more importantly, who were its late occupants? My best guess: suit-wearing alcoholics who held an affinity for tattoos, haircuts, and being massaged? Perhaps the Yakuza used to take up residence here. Slouching back in my seat, I rallied my aimless thoughts to higher purposes. I still had 5 more hours until Arizona. The greyhound was, in a way, my editor's parting gift to me. A reminder that I was still just a lowly junior columnist. They very well could have paid for a flight, but that’s what I got for going out on a limb for my first real story. The paper I worked for is based out of San Bernardino County, and it wasn’t even the 4th most popular newspaper in its area. Since the internet outages and satellite drownings began, paper news sales have seen an improvement, but not ours. I think I once saw an older man pick up his dog’s turds with our highly neglected sports section, it was the most use I’ve ever seen anyone get out of it. For the last 3 months, I had been eating away my nights and sick days, scurrying around town, contriving what would hopefully be my debut entry onto the stage of investigative journalism. I was on my way to Arizona to interview a few key people involved in a scandal I was covering. A San Bernardino apartment conglomerate which was heinously upping rent for tenants had been doing so under the fine-print excuse of a “pool restoration project”. The only problem, none of the apartment buildings featured a pool. Yep, Just your typical criminal landlord behavior. The owners of the properties were located in a cushy 12th floor real estate office in Phoenix, so that’s where I was headed. You see, up until then, I was handed down local bullshit pieces; an old dog turns 17 today, the DOCDSC (Department of Computer Driven Street Cleaners) is having a cook off against the SBAGCC ( San Bernardino Automated Garbage Collection Commission), a city statue of a dead philanthropist has been defamed by some drunk hooligans- that sort of weightless fluff. So when I finally got the tip of something important happening, I hunkered down and prepared the investigation. I locked it away as my precious side project, until I felt ready to beg my editor for the chance to come out and get the interviews. A bump nearly knocked me out of my thoughts and seat. The driver shook his head and pulled off to the side of a brick building, the suspension bouncing in protest to the unpaved dirt. “Hiss!” The parking lever was jammed into gear, and the doors swung open. The driver stood. “I’ll just be a moment folks, I think we’ve got a problem in the undercarriage. Please remain inside, it should be nothing.” He smooshed a baseball cap over his wrinkled head and waddled down the steps with a limp and groan. He disappeared into the blinding sun which caked the fine sand. Our valiant captain would brave the heat. Helmsman of hydro-electro greyhound buses, enemy to knee pain, It was by his skillful touch we’d surely be back on the road soon. In the meantime, I entertained myself with a few snipped out articles in my notebook. Please, don't think I'm a good journalist or some hard-truth seeking, for-the-people romantic, it's more that I just like seeing my name on something, even if that something is used as cat litter. Trapped in puny print, the outer fringes of boring newspaper articles serve as perfect display cases to my assorted menagerie of mediocre storylines. I exclusively house them in the 3rd page side columns no one bothers reading anyways. This neglected portion of the news was graciously provided to me by my editor when I started, but at least I do as I please with it. My own hallowed ground to build. I cutout strips of these excerpts for my cubicle and notebook. They motivate my frustrations. I haven’t found the story that puts me on the front, but I hoped Arizona would be different. I was reading one of my disappointing pieces on the bus, when a voice from behind broke my reverence. “You got a dart son?” I reared my head around to look, and found a sun burnt, scruffy face leaning over my seat. Its eyes held a spark of intelligence within them, but the stupid grin on its mouth would have me suggest otherwise. “I’m sorry, a what?”“You know, a dart! A fag, a ciggarrete?” “Ahh sorry, I smoked my last at the other stop.” A lie, my beloved pack of poison was stashed safely inside my bookbag. A sterner look fell over the initially friendly face. “Smoked your lucky last? No wonder this electric junk broke down.” With that, he returned gloomily back to his seat, looking out his window. Then he mumbled “hmmf. No one remembers anyways.” I adjusted my head to catch what he’d say next, but he fell silent. After a minute, I knelt on my seat to face him. He wasn’t watching, but instead, was looking dreamily out the window, a hand touching it while the other spun something metallic in his lap vacantly. His eyes spoke more than he had. They glazed over while his brows lowered firmly above them. In their settled form, I saw a deep longing nostalgia.I looked him over. A dusty, hooded sweatshirt sporting a few expertly sewn patches was draped over his shoulders. His jeans were in a similar appearance though they looked a size too big for the sinewy legs. On his feet, a pair of workmans boots with some frayed edges, they had a well maintained lace. A four digit maroon tattoo was visible under the cuff of his sleeve, it ended in an eleven. His hands, rough and worn, were splattered with dried blue paint. I saw the whole picture, admittedly, later than I should have. He was probably a homeless man, and likely a veteran. By the look of it, the uncaring desert had shown about as much mercy on him as it did the town. I retreated to my seat with a quiet respect. Sure, I enjoyed questioning strangers, it was part of the job, but I never interacted with an intimidating man like him before, so I was reluctant to start again. The driver, evidently unhappy, tottered past the window like a beetle, a phone glued to his ear. I could tell by his leisurely pace the problem with the suspension wasn’t going to be repaired soon. I croaked out a question suddenly. “Remember what? If you wouldn’t mind me asking?” I only heard how timid my voice sounded when it echoed off the seat and spat back into my stupid face. He stirred, tensing up towards my window before stabbing a boney finger at the glass. “Them.” Outside, above the driver's head, I studied our source of shade for the first time since the stop. A brick wall, halfway drowned in sand, stretched a meter or two above the bus, provided shelter from the sun. It bore a sun-bleached mural, consisting of a faded red white and blue banner which covered from edge to edge along the side of the building. In the mural, there were people and some soldiers, clad in coyote tan flack jackets. With sleek rifles, they took up tactical positions in front of a colorful crowd of locals, guarding an entrance where a wounded woman and child lay. Packed into a tight concrete ditch and bordered by razor wire, the stoic guardians held against further attack. Where was their unseen enemy? Painted in another far away mural perhaps. Their bulky sunglasses and goggles seemed to heighten them to an oddly inhuman appearance. The painting’s style reminded me of the antiquated methods once employed by catholic artists, the faces of the troops resembling the benevolent angels which litter the high ceilings of extravagant churches, bearing something unworldly in their soft expressions. The art had eroded away with the sand, but a date and title situated on its top center was still partially visible. “08/26/2021, “Remember the strong”. Though legible, the banner was obstructed partially by vandalism, the medium being a runny blue spray paint . The additional tag read: “we’ve already forgotten.”As I read, the groggy voice from behind me had also read aloud, his tone harnessing an eerily identical feeling of repugnance to the jagged graffiti. “What's this mural?” “It’s a tribute, commissioned by the families of the war.” he snorted, turning from the window. “We fought a mindless struggle in that desert, long before the missiles, before China and the jungles.” I slouched back into my seat. “The war on terror?” He nodded languidly and spit into a bottle. Whatever it was it reeked of mint. “This town used to be crawling with us, the base was perfect to prepare men for the climate and terrain they’d face over there. When the US turned its cautious eye to the green littorals of Asia, this place didn’t seem to carry much relevance anymore, so the Marine Corps packed up and left town.” With that he pulled a threadbare hoodie over his head and made fast work of arranging a seat-bed for himself, but not before lastly adding in a matter-of-fact tone “No desert Marines, no desert town.” The old creature settled in so impressively fast, and really did look threateningly close to drifting away forever into sleep. Tactics were quickly adjusted as I took a newer, more delicate approach. Tossing a pack of cigarettes on his lap, the man sprang up and withdrew a slim one from it, flipping it gracefully between his fingers and into cracked lips. “Smart man, not keeping your pogie-bait visible to everyone. Better to be a hoarder than a moocher.” He reanimated so fast it almost scared me. More importantly, he had spoken some more unknown military jargon. He seemed to speak an antiquated, brevity-filled version of English, frequenting unusual idioms and crass nicknames I couldn’t decipher. I got the feeling that the man and wall had come from the same place in time, and both were equally as neglected. I adopted a genuine tone with him. “I don’t know what happened here, or anything about men like that-“ I gestured to the wall “and I’m sure a quick internet search on my phone would tell me half the story, but something tells me it would be more worthwhile just asking you.” The silence killed me, I hastened a resolve by nervously ripping my notebook out and holding it over the seat. “I’m also a journalist… well, sort of.” A glimmer of amusement passed over him. He pressed a touchscreen button, opened his air vent, and lit the cigarette with a snap. The hand that operated his lighter slithered from its hoodie sleeve, and as it did so I could make out a wrist wrapped in several metallic bands catching the light, each with a serialized name on it. The smoking took precedence for a moment, but when his head returned from the vent port, his countenance had twisted into an odd smirk, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth’s corner. “Was anybody in your family ever in the Mar-” He broke off and jerked away from his introduction, starting again. “Have you ever been to a circus Mr…” “Call me Anthony, and yes I think once, when I was little. Not too many around now though.”He laughed, and extended a hand which I shook formally, though more tightly than usual. I didn’t want him to know he was dealing with a soft man. To heighten the anticipation further however, he smoked on, looking as if he were collecting the next piece, his gaze searching the painted wall outside for the right words. When he finally spoke again, his voice had gained a subtle hint of enthusiasm in it. “Well, the place I used to work at was sorta like a circus.” He exhaled smoke past a smile and into the vent cover, satisfied with the analogy, then continued. “Some of the most fantastical sights I’ll ever see were had during my time there. Things you’d only see in an expensive movie. Huge fireworks put on display across a clear dark sky, turning night into day. I put on my clown suit every day and walked the wires between tents. I rubbed elbows with funny, peculiar creatures in those days. Young men of every caliber, green behind the ears, had flocked to see the show, just as I had. Weak men who could craft extravagant excuses and complaints for the most menial of tasks, strong ones who could perform incredible feats of will, and even strange ones, who seemed to have been designed in test tubes exclusively for our entertainment. They were incubated and collected from tiny obscure towns across the corners of the country, sent to the circus with nothing but the clothes on their back and a last name to their face. I loved the clowns in every way, but the circus, oh it was a nasty, unpredictable beast in itself. Some days it was funny, spectacular in its triumphs of efficiency. Other times, it was cold, uncompromising. On its worst days though, it was an unforgiving tax on a man’s soul, to put it as a buddy would. More than anything however, the show was an old one, and If there was any flaw to be found in its existence, maybe that was it. It held onto its bloody traditions like a beggar clutching his last coins, unwilling to budge with the change of time. A rock that refuses to see that the river around it has changed course. Sometimes it seemed like it would never end, but I guess every show has to come to a close.” He faded into a lost expression with this concluding part. Who would have guessed the ragged passenger would be so beautifully articulate! If I was interested before, it was safe to say I was now captivated. I took advantage of the pause to coolly slip out a few cigarettes, and squeak open my automated vent. “Tell me about your buddies.” We spoke for hours, and the bus was eventually revived to its full strength. By the time we reached Arizona and said our goodbyes on an unlit warm morning, we were more than well acquainted. He thanked me before he went, and I asked him why. He told me I was the first in a while to really listen, to care. I’ve already bought my ticket home now (I’ll bill my editor later). At a diner across from the station, I’m compiling the notes for my next story while I wait. My first real story. Tucked into the edge of the 3rd page, I’m going to help them remember our mistakes, remember the desert, remember the strong.
","July 30, 2023 23:19","[[{'Leland Mesford': 'Great story, but it really missed the prompt in a significant way.', 'time': '03:15 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jorge Soto': 'Thanks', 'time': '00:21 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jorge Soto': 'Thanks', 'time': '00:21 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,9jm5kt,Submerged,Martin Harp,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9jm5kt/,/short-story/9jm5kt/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",13 likes,"
“What happened and why are my feet wet?” Monica thought to herself as she slowly opened her eyes in the driver seat of her car, her head resting against the steering wheel. The haze in her vision was beginning to clear but the haze in her mind was not.
 
“What happened and why are my feet wet?” she continued to ask herself until she realized she couldn’t see anything out of the windows except dark, murky water lit up by the dying headlights of her car.
 
Panic began to sink in as Monica realized why her feet were wet.
 
“I’m sinking! The car is sinking! What happened?!” Monica’s thoughts raced frantically as she tried to evaluate the situation she now found herself in.
 
Instinct and panic led her to grab the door handle and push but with no luck. The door was locked. After realizing the door was locked, and that she had not fully found her way out of the haze, she unlocked the door. Even after the door was unlocked it wouldn’t budge. It was impossible to open with the pressure of the water bearing down on the car.
 
The panic started to rise inside Monica faster than the water level in the car. Hyperventilating, Monica screamed for help, only no one could hear her. Tears ran down her face as she looked for an option out of the sinking car.
 
As she glanced in the rear-view mirror she saw blood streaming from a gash in her brow, coloring her tears an unnatural red. “I’m bleeding?” she thought. In this thought, she noticed the blood on the steering wheel as well. “Great, now I’m going to have to clean the blood out of my car.” Monica thought before realizing that was the least of her problems. Panic set in once again.
 
She needed to find a way out of the car and her panic and jumbled thoughts were sealing her fate inside this sinking tomb.
 
A single deep breath was all she could spare to collect her thoughts and it worked, for now.
 
“The window, I’ll break the window!” Monica thought. Looking around the car, there was nothing except her purse on the floor. Monica had always been a particularly tidy person, and thus never left anything superfluous in her car. There wasn’t even trash in the cupholder, let alone something big and heavy to break a window with. Even her purse only had her wallet, a couple bits of makeup, and her phone.
 
“Phone!” Monica exclaimed.
 
Monica lunged at her feet for her purse to grab her cell phone from it. She fished the bag out of the rising water and grabbed her waterlogged cell phone. Panic and desperation blocked her mind from even registering the phone was unusable. Frantically she tapped on the screen and pushed every button before throwing it in a tantrum.
 
Then the thought of using the car keys came to mind.
 
“I can put the keys between my fingers!” Monica thought. “That should be sharp enough to break the glass.”
 
Monica reached for the ignition and pulled out the keys. This created a problem when the headlights turned off and suddenly Monica was thrust into darkness. Blindly, she reached up for the dome light and flipped it on. It was flickering and dim, but it would work for now.
 
With the keys between her fingers now, Monica reared back her right fist and swung it as hard as she could at the driver’s side window. Thud. Nothing came of the swing but a horrible pain in her hand. Once more she cocked back and gave it her all at the window. Thud. Bloody knuckles and even more pain was the only thing this swing accomplished. With tears streaming down her face, Monica leaned back and put her entire body into her final attempt. Thud.
 
Monica sat and looked at her blood on the window and dropped the keys as the crimson tears came in greater volume.
 
It felt like a lifetime, but it had barely been 30 seconds since Monica had come to.
 
With her hand throbbing and bloody, Monica decided it was time to use her legs to kick the window open. While trying to position herself, she realized she was still buckled in. Monica clicked in the seat belt and went to take it off when she realized it was stuck.
 
Her stomach dropped as she realized not only was she trapped in a sinking car, but she was trapped in the driver's seat as well. She began to tug and pull on the seatbelt with her bloody hand realizing it was causing her too much pain and her grip wasn’t strong enough. Down to a single hand, she grasped at the buckle and in desperation tugged at it with increasing force as she let out a scream that took all the oxygen out of her lungs. The seat belt gave way as she struggled for air and she was free, yet still trapped.
 
She laid down across the front seats and cocked her legs back ready to kick the window out and free herself. Thud. Just like the first punch, the first kick resulted in pain. Using both heels on the second attempt, Monica kicked the window. Thud. It felt like the bones in her feet were starting to crack but the window stayed completely intact. Again, out of desperation, she kicked the window with everything inside of her. Thud. This window wasn’t going to break before her foot.
 
Out of options, Monica watched as the water rose steadily in the car. It was up to the bottom of the steering wheel now and it was cold. It was so cold. “It’s the middle of summer, why is the water so damn cold?” she thought to herself.
 
The car was tilting forward as the weight of the engine pulled it down into the abyss. Monica had no clue how deep the water was, she just knew it was dark, cold, and rising faster with every second she hesitated. She didn’t even know which body of water she was in; she could barely remember driving. Was she drunk? No, she hadn’t had a drink in months. Why hadn’t she had a drink in months? She thought to herself. I always go out with my friends and have a good time on the weekends and that can hardly be done stone-cold sober, thought Monica. Then finally, the realization kicked in.
 
This was no longer a fight just for her life, this was a fight for the lives of those in the car. The lives of the two people occupying Monica’s body. Monica was solely responsible for them both. Her failure meant the death of two now, not one. She became more frantic as the water moved past her waist.
 
She clambered into the backseat as the water started to engulf the front of the car.
 
With no success, she tried to open the back doors and windows. Her hand was still bloodied from punching the driver-side window, she knew that wasn’t an option.
 
Monica screamed as she laid down across the backseat and tried kicking the windows again. Thud. Her feet were hurting, and the glass wasn’t budging. She couldn’t muster another kick as the pain became too much in her fragile feet.
 
The front seats were underwater, and the backseat was starting to submerge. At this moment, Monica heard what sounded like the crack of glass giving way. She looked at the window nearest her and saw nothing but marks from her shoes.
 
Monica dove under the water, pulling herself towards the front to find the source of the cracking glass. She touched the driver’s side window and felt a newly formed blemish. All the pain she was in seemed to be worth it with this discovery. This was it. This was the way out.
 
At this point, the dome light was underwater and giving Monica a minor sense of direction in the murky water. She came back to the backseat for air and quickly dove down again to the driver’s side. She was determined to kick this window out and free herself and her child.
 
However, being underwater made her kicks more worthless than they had been before. It was like fighting in a dream. The kicks were so weak they weren’t even causing her feet pain. Monica screamed with the last attempt, muffled by the water as the air bubbles rose.
 
Monica swam to the back and resurfaced to find herself near the rear window clinging to what little air was left in the car. The water was soon to take over the whole car and leave her with no air. Leave her with nothing but water to breathe into her lungs.
 
With her head pressed against the back window, fighting for each breath, Monica was scared, not only for her life but the life of the child she was carrying as well. Monica had never been a religious person, but in moments of desperation, any god is a god worth pleading to.
 
“Please God, please, let me out of this car and I swear I will do anything! I need a miracle!” Monica begged. “I need to live not for me, but for my baby! Please let the window shatter so I can swim to safety! Please do anything! Do you hear me! Help!”
 
Monica pleaded as the water took her head underneath and she took her last breath of fresh air. The dome light faded and left darkness.
 
God never answered.
","August 01, 2023 18:24","[[{'Seah Kim': 'That ending line - perfect. Gave me the chills. The entire story was so dramatic and the buildup was amazing. I felt as if I was in the car with Monica, pleading for her to live. Fantastic job :D', 'time': '01:39 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Harp': 'Thank you so much, I almost named the story after that ending line but I felt it had MUCH more impact out of the blue.', 'time': '01:41 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Seah Kim': ""Yep, I think you definitely went with the right decision. It's your first submission and you've managed to wow me already. Looking forward to more!"", 'time': '01:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Harp': 'Thank you so much, I almost named the story after that ending line but I felt it had MUCH more impact out of the blue.', 'time': '01:41 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Seah Kim': ""Yep, I think you definitely went with the right decision. It's your first submission and you've managed to wow me already. Looking forward to more!"", 'time': '01:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Seah Kim': ""Yep, I think you definitely went with the right decision. It's your first submission and you've managed to wow me already. Looking forward to more!"", 'time': '01:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': 'Well written, scary and sad at the same time!', 'time': '15:08 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Diane Tolley': ""This felt very real. Very possible.  There is some superfluous 'verbiage', but you are definitely on the right path! Very well done!"", 'time': '22:04 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Wow, quite the entrance into Reedsy with this one! 😳 leave all hope at the door! Lol! \n\nBut really, what a great story! I was tense and nervous and hoping Monica would find her way out. You provide a shadow of hope in the dark water when the window cracks, but then nevermind. Monica doesn’t make it. Not what I expected!  \nWelcome, and well done 😄', 'time': '20:12 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Hi Martin and welcome to Reedsy! A lover of things macabre you say, well with this tale you are letting us know that for definite.\n\nThe premise is good and dark, the end is open to the imagination which I like and there is a certain sense of mystery as too how and why she is underwater. All good.\n\nAlthough I feel it could be tightened to make it even punchier, if you are open to some suggestions. \n\nYou use the phrase Monica thought or thought Monica at least five, maybe six times. As, until the reveal of the child, there is no other characte...', 'time': '14:32 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,uely47,Last EX-it,Myranda Marie,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uely47/,/short-story/uely47/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Funny']",13 likes,"
“Please tell me you haven’t left for the weekend yet!” Zoey instantly dreaded answering her phone. The desperation in her sister’s voice made her stomach turn and mind wander into the danger zone. This was going to cost her something; money, time, or worse, her dignity. “Nope, still in the driveway.” she responded reluctantly, placing her bags in the trunk and slamming it closed. Zoey was completely desensitized when it came to her sister Bryn’s propensity for drama and began to imagine possible scenarios before Bryn could explain. Of course, each one flashing through her thoughts was more bizarre than the last causing an involuntary giggle to escape.“Zoey, this isn’t funny, we need your help, it’s a full blown emergency!” Zoey paused, considering her sister may very well be in some sort of trouble, “Are you ok?” she asked, genuinely concerned. “Yes, of course. Gary and I have been on the road for about an hour, and one of our friends needs a ride. His car broke down at the end of his street. He managed to push it back into his driveway but now has no way to get to the wedding. I know you’re notoriously late and presumed you hadn’t left yet, so say you’ll do it; say you’ll give our friend a ride.” Zoey attached her phone to the mount on her dash and connected her Bluetooth. She glanced into the rearview mirror noticing her furrowed brow. “What friend, and where are they?” “Um, well, it’s Kevin, and before you say no, you literally have to pass his house on your way out of town, so there’s absolutely no inconvenience at all.” Bryn’s encouraging inflection infuriated Zoey as she processed the fact that her own sister was asking her to spend the next three hours trapped in a car with her ex-boyfriend. “That’s a big hell no.” “Zoey, stop being unreasonable. Kevin is part of the bridal party. It’s essential he gets to the wedding, and you are driving there anyway, alone. You would literally be saving the day.” “Stop saying “literally”. And you’re telling me that Kevin is fine with this arrangement?” Bryn paused longer than necessary. “Oh My God, Bryn, no one told him I would be the one picking him up?” “Well, we just had time to assure him that someone would be there to pick him up as soon as possible.” “Bryn, it takes less than a second to mention my name. This is more than manipulative, even for you.” “I know, so, I am prepared to bribe you with a spa day at the resort, my treat. Now please, say you’ll do this.” “Fine, I’m on my way, but you will owe me so much more than a facial and a massage.” Zoey backed out of her driveway and began the short drive to Kevin’s house, less than three miles from her own. Her thoughts drifted from one relationship disaster to another. No two people were ever as mismatched as she and Kevin were, only agreeing to date for the sake of their friend group. They were both single and it made sense to become a couple when attending group activities. However, Zoey quickly became acutely aware of their incompatibility and struggled through six months of awkward encounters that somehow should have been romantic. She shuddered at the thought of having to spend one on one time with him as she vowed to never again compromise her self-respect for the good of the group. ""How ironic”, she thought as she pulled into his driveway and gave her horn three quick taps. Kevin emerged from the front door lugging an inappropriately large suitcase behind him. Zoey laughed aloud watching him thump the case down the front steps, nearly losing his balance. “Please fall.” she thought to herself, with little guilt for her malicious wish. He managed the bag down the drive, still oblivious as to who actually came to his rescue. He knocked on the back window and yelled smugly, “Pop the trunk.” Zoey obliged. The anticipation of Kevin's realization was too much to bear, and Zoey could not contain her laughter as she watched him walk to the front of her car and open the passenger door, slide into the seat, adjust it, fasten his seatbelt and finally turn to the driver to thank them for the save. His mouth hung agape, and his narrow little eyes widened as much as they possibly could without causing any permanent damage. He reminded Zoey of a poorly illustrated cartoon character, intended to render stupidity itself. Zoey gave him a few seconds to process before breaking the obvious tension with a polite and platonic “Hey Kev”.“You!” was all he could manage during the first few moments. Kevin’s composure wrestled with his embarrassment while Zoey simply threw the car into gear and backed out of his driveway without uttering any of the pithy retorts filling her thoughts. She drove several miles before Kevin dared speak. Zoey assumed he needed every bit of that time to formulate his rendition of an intellectual yet condescending ice breaker; however, as usual, Kevin fell short of expectation. “I know why you volunteered to drive with me and honestly Zoey, it’s not flattering but rather disturbing.” “That’s exactly how I feel about you.” she thought. Three hours stuck in a car with him would certainly seem like the fifth circle of Hell if she gave into her undeniable urge to verbally beat him down within the first ten minutes. “I didn’t exactly volunteer, but I’m happy to help out. I know you’d do the same for me.” “He absolutely would not!”“Well, I doubt it, I mean what would my girlfriend think if I helped you out of a jam?” Kevin squirmed a bit in the seat while attempting to pass his emotional discomfort off as physical. “Do these seats go back any further? I’m feeling cramped.” Zoey intentionally sidestepped the “girlfriend” comment, praying it wouldn’t come up again, “Yeah, reach down on your right and press the lever back.” She glanced to her right as Kevin fumbled for the lever. “Here.” she offered, reaching for the panel on the dash. “Try this.” Zoey pointed to the control panel where another seat adjustment option awaited. “Nice car.” He spat as he played with the dash panel. “Rental?” “No, I bought it about four months ago. I’ve wanted one for years.” Zoey knew she had mentioned her dream car to Kevin many times while they were dating. Although she didn’t expect him to remember, the rental dig led her to believe he had. “I bet it’s a gas guzzler. My girlfriend drives a hybrid. She’s more concerned with efficiency than aesthetics and status.”“Obviously.” Zoey stifled a giggle. “That’s very cool.” she said, feigning interest. “Did anyone bother to inform you that I have a girlfriend? I mean, if you were thinking we were going to spend time together at the resort, I might as well tell you now, that it’s not going to happen.” “Oh, thank God we cleared that up.” “Yes, I do believe I heard you were dating someone. She’s from Canada, right?” Once again, Zoey swallowed a giggle. “No, who told you that? She’s from South Jersey, I’m sure you wouldn’t know her.” Zoey’s laughter suddenly developed a mind of its own and it burst from its intentional confines for only a few seconds, but certainly long and loud enough to be irritating. “That’s funny?” he asked, confused as to why Zoey was expressing her humor. He hadn’t picked up on the “girl from Canada” dig, and assumed Zoey found South Jersey to be the punchline. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was reminded of a joke as we passed that sign back there.” She lied.“What sign?”She deflected, “You know, the first hour is so boring but once we get out of the city, the scenery is just beautiful all the way into the mountains. It was such a fun idea to have a destination wedding in the Catskills, don’t you think?” Zoey was never one for small talk, but she thought it rude to turn on the radio and crank the volume. Well, not just yet anyway. “Waste of time and money. When we get married, it will be local, so no one has to be inconvenienced. Oh, when I say “we” I mean me and my girlfriend.” he clarified, as if he had to. “I think it’s rather romantic. Besides, I for one am looking forward to spending the weekend taking full advantage of the resort's amenities. It’s like a mini vacation with a built-in party.” “Did you not get a plus one on your invitation?” he asked.“I did. I thought it would be better to fly solo. This way I don’t have to feel responsible for someone else’s good time. I can focus on being with my friends and having some time to myself.” she answered honestly. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore his snide comments, therefore adding, “Did you not get a plus one?” “I did.” he said smugly, “My girlfriend is visiting her aunt in Arizona this weekend.” “Well, that’s a far cry from Canada!” His perpetual state of bewilderment amused Zoey more than she cared to admit. She toyed with asking the name of said girlfriend and continuing to be at the very least cordial for the duration. She sighed, “So, does your girlfriend have a name?” “Nancy. And I really think she’s the one.” Zoey’s eyes widened, “That’s wonderful.” She found herself genuinely happy for Kevin. “I’m so glad to hear you’ve found someone special.” “I know that must be hard for you to hear. In a way, I’m glad Nancy isn’t with me; that could really throw a wrench into your weekend, having to see us happily together.” “Oh, look! There’s our exit.” Zoey declared pointing to her right. “We’re about halfway there, and making great time.” she said, glancing at the time display on her phone. “I figured it would be a three-hour drive and it’s only been a little over an hour.” “Two hours and thirty-nine minutes according to my GPS.” he corrected. “I’m not sure how you came up with three hours.” “Holy shit, is this guy annoying!” If there were any doubt as to why she had broken up with him, it had been dispelled. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”“That’s fine, but nothing too aggressive. Nancy prefers I listen to soft rock, smooth jazz or classical.” Kevin clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. The clear and distinct image of striking him in his pompous face with a closed fist flashed through Zoey’s thoughts. She realized some would conclude she was in fact jealous of his new relationship due to residual romantic feelings. However, Zoey was more than sure she just couldn’t stand him. Zoey intentionally selected a playlist loaded with classic rock and raised the volume. He winced, she gloated and began to sing along to an all too familiar song. “You should have outgrown this kind of music by now. Nancy says it solicits heightened negative emotions and it’s bad for your mental health.” “Well, isn’t Nancy a plethora of knowledge?” “She sounds delightful.” “She is. She’s smart, practical and reliable.”“Just like her car!” Kevin sat straighter in his seat, “Zoey, it’s natural for you to lash out at the idea of Nancy and I being in love. I feel sorry for you, but that’s all I feel. Do you understand?” “Speak slower you ape! The beating of my broken heart is drowning out your ridiculous drivel.”  “You don’t have to worry about me, Kev. I will endure somehow.” Zoey pressed down on the gas pedal and opened up the V-8 under the hood of her new Challenger. They were headed into the mountains far from the highway traffic and the speed limit seemed but a mere suggestion. This is how the car was meant to be driven. “You do realize that if you ever meet Nancy, she will surely disapprove. She and my mother have had conversations about you. They both agree you were nothing but a setback in my life. I have to confess; my mother loves her. They have become good friends and even take a ceramics class together. Nancy says when the time comes, they want to make the favors for our wedding.” “Where the hell did all that come from?” “Good news for Nancy, there’s little chance she and I will ever meet. She will likely be spared the displeasure of being in my company. Oh, and how is your mother doing? Please give her my regards when you speak to her.” Zoey’s intonation oozed sarcasm. “She and Nancy have so much in common. I never thought I’d find a woman like my Mom.”“Oh, ewww !”  Zoey pressed her lips tightly together to keep the sarcasm from spilling out. She managed a faint, “Mmm_Hmm” She felt nauseated and somehow grateful at the same time. They literally make horror films about men like him and the women who unnaturally worshiped his demented eccentricities. Zoey thought back to several instances where the discomfort she felt in his presence morphed from incompatibility to trepidation. The more she focused on those moments, the more she recalled. “Oh, Dear God, the evidence was irrefutable.”“Oh, look! The first billboard for the resort. It says only thirty-seven miles to go.” she stated with relief. Zoey's phone began to chime. She turned the radio down and tapped her screen. “Hey Bryn, you’re on speaker.” she announced in anticipation of her sister asking how things were going. “Where are you guys?” “About forty minutes away.”Kevin piped up, “The way Zoey drives, we will be there in like ten minutes. This car was a bad idea for someone so irresponsible.” Bryn sighed. She suddenly felt sorry for her sister and guilty for goading her into rescuing a stranded Kevin. “Hey Zoe, they have this ultimate spa package, and I am about to make appointments for both of us tomorrow morning, totally on me of course.” “Thanks Bryn. It sounds perfect. So, have you and Gary checked out the bar yet? I’m looking forward to hanging out tonight, maybe with a cocktail or three.” Bryn sympathized and hated to be the one to make things even worse for her sister but decided to rip off the proverbial band-aid. “Kevin, a woman arrived a few minutes ago on the airport shuttle. She gave your name at the front desk. Were you expecting a Nancy to join you?” Kevin nearly jumped from his seat. His voice cracked, and his cheeks flushed, “What? Nancy is there? She can’t be. Is this a joke, Bryn?” “Not at all. She’s sitting in the lobby talking to Gary. When I heard her ask for you, I told her I would call and check.”Kevin remained silent. His countenance was that of someone encountering a poltergeist, and his overall complexion turned ashen. For a moment, Zoey was concerned, not for Kevin's well being but for her own. She asked Bryn to stay on the line and chat with her while she drove that last short bit to the resort. The sister’s made small talk, peppering in cryptic innuendos when they could. Finally, Zoey turned left at the stone fountain embellished with the resort’s name and mountain-esque sigil. “See you in a minute, Bryn.” Zoey ended her call and turned to Kevin. “We’re here. I’m sure you can’t wait to see Nancy. I hope Bryn didn’t ruin the surprise.” Still, no words came. Silence was uncharacteristic and had Zoey more than curious. She pulled up to the main entrance, handed her keys to the valet and helped the porter unload their bags from the trunk onto a luggage trolley. Kevin slowly made his way from the passenger's seat to the curb, stepping cautiously toward the enormous glass doors. Bryn rushed to her sister’s side and linked her right arm with Zoey’s left. She leaned in and whispered, “Nancy looks exactly like Kevin’s mom.”As they entered the elaborate lobby of the resort, Bryn gestured slightly with her head in Nancy’s direction. Bryn’s boyfriend Gary sat nearby with his head in his hands, anticipating the reaction from Zoey as she came face to face with Nancy. The woman stood and faced the doors as Kevin crept toward her, head and shoulders slouched downward resembling a puppy recently scolded for piddling on the carpet. Zoey and Bryn stood alongside Gary while Nancy addressed her boyfriend. Her scowl spoke volumes, but his body language screamed even louder. Zoey buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and giggled maniacally. She whispered, “So worth the road trip from hell. This is going to be the best weekend ever.” 
","August 04, 2023 00:27","[[{'Luca King Greek': ""Te story kept me engaged all the way to the end, felt authentic.  I'm gonna be honest though, I didn't quite get the punchline...if there was one.  I have the horrible feeling that I am a Kevin."", 'time': '01:01 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': ""Kevin isn't a bad guy. He just has a tendency to oversell himself and, in this case, his new relationship. He figures Zoey would never know the difference as the odds of her ever meeting Nancy were slim, until Nancy shows up! Yeah, I feel a bit sorry for Kevin as well, but rest assured Zoey will do her best to not make things harder for the poor guy. ..Thanks for reading !!!"", 'time': '04:18 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Luca King Greek': ""Myranda, \nInteresting.  I guess my sympathies were so aligned with Zoey that I didn't much care about Kevin.  Your story has stayed with me!\nBest,\nLuca"", 'time': '12:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': ""Kevin isn't a bad guy. He just has a tendency to oversell himself and, in this case, his new relationship. He figures Zoey would never know the difference as the odds of her ever meeting Nancy were slim, until Nancy shows up! Yeah, I feel a bit sorry for Kevin as well, but rest assured Zoey will do her best to not make things harder for the poor guy. ..Thanks for reading !!!"", 'time': '04:18 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Luca King Greek': ""Myranda, \nInteresting.  I guess my sympathies were so aligned with Zoey that I didn't much care about Kevin.  Your story has stayed with me!\nBest,\nLuca"", 'time': '12:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Luca King Greek': ""Myranda, \nInteresting.  I guess my sympathies were so aligned with Zoey that I didn't much care about Kevin.  Your story has stayed with me!\nBest,\nLuca"", 'time': '12:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""This is a very realistic description of a relationship gone sour and the way ex's view each other and speak to each other. I sort of feel sorry for Kevin in a way, he was obviously trying  to 'big up' his relationship and girlfriend but he seems to be miserable in reality. Probably regretting losing Zoey. \nGood read again !"", 'time': '14:45 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': ""Awe, everyone feels sorry for Kevin. He's a good dude, just a little insecure. I just hope Nancy behaves herself around his friends."", 'time': '04:21 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': ""Awe, everyone feels sorry for Kevin. He's a good dude, just a little insecure. I just hope Nancy behaves herself around his friends."", 'time': '04:21 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""To Zoey's best weekend!"", 'time': '01:35 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,7mc15x,The Getaway,John-Paul Cote,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7mc15x/,/short-story/7mc15x/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Crime', 'Fiction']",12 likes,"
	“Clyde, you hold on, man, you hold on.”
 
	“It hurts, Gill, it hurts so bad.”
 
	Clyde lay in the back of the 1974 Chevy Impala, dying. A gut shot had him bleeding all over the seat. It had been a lucky shot by the cop. Gill returned the favour with a shot to the chest.
 
	The heist did not go as planned. It was a cluster fuck. Billy was lying on the floor of the bank. A hole in his head. The car was shot up. It was pretty obvious who and what they were. There was no time to stop and steal another one. The cops were hot on their tail.
 
	Gill ripped the ski mask off of his head. It took him that long to realize he still had it on. He took corners so fast he thought the car would flip, but it gave them a few more feet on the cops. The sheriff was pretty eager though to get them.
 
	“Gill, you gotta... You gotta... My mom can’t know I did this.”
	“They won’t get us, Clyde, they won’t. You hang on, man. You’ll see her again. You just hang on.”
 
	Those goddamed lights and sirens. Everywhere Gill turned, there they were. He had to get out of town.
 
	Gill looked up. There was a woman in front of him. He didn’t swerve or hit the brake. He drove right through her. The woman hit the hood, cracked the windshield, and rolled over the car. Gill looked in the rearview mirror. She wasn’t moving, but her body was holding up the cops.
 
	Gill spotted a sign for the on-ramp to the interstate. He came around a corner and slammed into another cruiser. As he pulled away, he saw the cop turn to follow, less his front bumper.
 
	Shit! Two more deputies had planted their cruisers on the street, blocking his way to the on-ramp. Gill turned the wheel and took the car onto the front lawns. The coppers saw what he was doing and started shooting. He flew past them, bounced over the curb and he was free!
 
	Onto the freeway. He gave it more gas. It’d take valuable minutes for the cops to turn their cruisers around and follow. He had to get off the interstate before they could catch up with him.
 
	Gill took the first exit. The night was falling. He shut off the lights and took the third turn off the main road. He was in the country now. Looking back, he could see the flashing lights on the freeway.
 
	“Clyde! Clyde! Are you with me, man?”
 
	“It’s okay, man,” Clyde replied, with a weakening voice. “It’s okay, man. We had a good run, right?” He trailed off.
 
	Gill turned the lights on. He looked back. Clyde was unconscious. Maybe dead. There was a lot of blood.
 
	“Just hold on, man.”
 
	Gill turned back. There was a woman in the headlights of the car.
	“Jesus Christ!” He said as he drove through her. Up and over the car.
 
	This time, he stopped. He’d need to move the body, to keep the cops from getting a clue where he was going.
 
	Gill left the engine running as he exited the car. He looked but there wasn't a body. Anywhere. He checked under the car and in the ditch. Nothing.
 
	“What the f...”
 
	He shook off the feeling he was getting and checked on Clyde.
 
	He was dead.
 
	Gill dragged Clyde out of the car and dumped his body off the road, and tried to cover it with grass and dirt.
 
	“Sorry, man,” was all he said over his friend's body.
 
	Gill got in the car and started off down the road again. He suddenly felt someone next to him in the passenger seat. He turned his head.
 
	There was that woman, staring at him with black, empty eyes.
 
	“So, what will you do next?” She asked.
 
	Gill screamed and slammed on the brakes. He jumped out of the car with his gun drawn.
 
	There was nobody there but him.
 
	He looked around.
 
	No one.
 
	Gill swore and got back behind the wheel. It was dark down this road except for his headlights. He needed to find a way back to the main road.
 
	He slowed down while he looked for a house. Then he saw two hitchhikers. Maybe they knew.
 
	He was slowing down to pick them up. It was a man and a woman. He honked the horn to get their attention.
 
	It was Clyde. His guts open. Blood was everywhere on him.
 
	It was the woman, covered the same.
 
	Gill hit the gas and sped off.
 
	He was panicking, breathing heavily, getting light-headed.
 
	Gill felt a presence beside him and looked over. Clyde was sitting in the passenger seat. Black, empty eyes stared back at him.
 
	“You know, we’ll never escape.”
 
	“Fuck me!”
 
	Gill pulled on the steering wheel and put the car on the shoulder. He felt a loss of control and slammed on the brakes. Out of the car, he stared at the empty passenger seat. He looked at the back of the car.
 
	He’d blown a tire.
 
	There were no lights anywhere but his. He’d have to fix it.
 
	After grunting and swearing, he had the tire change. He rolled the old one into the ditch. Gill took his gun out. He checked out the front and back. Nobody and no one except him. He got back in and was on his way.
 
	A few more minutes down the road and he saw house lights. Turning up the driveway, he saw the mailbox said ‘Graves’. Funny. An old decrepit graveyard greeted him off to one side. It was a long way to the house. He parked the car and got out with his gun hidden at his side. A man appeared on the porch with a shotgun in his hands.
 
	“What’re you doing here? What do you want?” The man said.
 
	“I’m just looking for the interstate...” Gill started saying.
 
	The man in the door caught the outline of Gill’s pistol. He brought the shotgun up and fired. Gill felt pain ripping through his left side but returned fire.
 
	The man on the porch dropped.
 
	“Fuck!”
 
	Gill looked at his side. He was bleeding. A lot.
 
	He walked up to the house and kicked the old man laying on the porch. He was dead, right through the chest. Gill went inside to find some first aid.
 
	Gill found some bandages, gauze pads, and some antiseptic. He peeled the shirt off his body. His shoulder, upper arm, and chest were a mess. The pellets didn’t go deep, but the effect was all the same. A lot of blood. A lot of pain. He wiped as much away as he could, pouring the antiseptic on the wounds as he went.
 
	Goddamned, it hurt.
 
	Gill did his best to patch the wounds. He’d need a doctor. Fast. He looked around the kitchen for something that might tell him where he was but found nothing. Did he risk turning back and meet the cops or keep going ahead? He kept moving on.
 
	It was hard maneuvering the car with one hand. Gill started down the driveway when he saw the old man in front of him. He hit the gas and just drove through him. Gill looked to his right and laughed.
 
	There was the old man. Black, empty eyes.
 
	“Was it all worth it?” It asked.
 
	Gill took his good hand off the wheel, brought his gun up, and fired. The window shattered. The ghost was gone.
 
	He laughed again.
 
	Then he was off the driveway and into the graveyard.
 
	The car plowed through a couple of headstones before Gill could stop. He backed the car up to turn around, but the ground was soft from the graves. He gave the gas and rocked the car back and forth. Soon, the graves were shredded, but the Impala was free.
 
	Gill felt his head get lighter. He took the bottle of pills he grabbed from the medicine cabinet and chugged them down. Who knows what he was taking but it could do him any more harm.
 
	Back on the road, there they were.
 
	Three hitchhikers.
 
	Gill stepped on the gas and sped by.
 
	Clyde leaned forward from the back seat.
 
	“You know, we can’t escape what we’ve done.”
 
	Gill slammed on the gas and the brake pedals. The car went out of control and hit a pole. Gill flew through the window, rolled as he hit the ground, and came to a rest in the field.
 
	He just laid there, not sure if he could feel anything.
 
	As he did, three figures approached him.
 
 
	The sun was setting on the crime scene. Sheriff Bowes lifted his sunglasses to get a better look at the body. It was ripped up pretty badly.
 
	“He got himself shot and then torn up coming through the windshield,” the crime scene tech said. “Animals have done some damage, too. You’ve got to expect that after a couple of days laying here.”
 
	“Likely, the farmer back there got him first,” a deputy commented.
 
	The sheriff spit a bit of chew off to the side.
 
	“Whether you think you live by God’s laws or not, you do,” the sheriff said. “The punk got what he deserved. Wrap it up.”
 
	Bowes walked to his car and turned back to the interstate. Heading east, the darkness had already set in. He adjusted his rearview mirror to keep the setting sun out of his eyes. When he turned back to the road, he saw four people walking on the dirt shoulder.
 
	Hitchhikers or locals?
 
	He cared little except to get back to the station and drove on.
","July 30, 2023 18:07","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Cool story, I love the action in this one!', 'time': '15:22 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'H.e. Ross': 'The beginning almost stopped me from reading because I was seeing what was about to happen and then you wrote it. That, in a way, stimulated curiosity about what would come next and when it didn’t come next I started liking the way you were transporting me as a reader. Good job but look at the beginning again... and keep me curious though.', 'time': '16:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mike Rush': ""John-Paul,\n\nI taught public school for 32 years and came across a few hyphenated last names, but I don't remember ever seeing a first name like that. It sounds French. Am I right?\n\nThis is such a great response to the prompt. The pace is quick and the drama is high. I was right there in the car with those guys. I liked how you gave us just enough information about the robbery to know what had happened, but that didn't take us out of the car. \n\nThe best part of this story, for me, is the slow unravelling of Gill's mind. And the writing is so ..."", 'time': '11:32 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thanks, Mike, I appreciate the feedback. I like the way he slowly breaks down and, in the end, the mystery of his character. The sheriff, I thought of Clint Eastwood in A Perfect World. Maybe the end sighting of the four should have been in the dust of the sheriff passing by. It’s supposed to show for all of his actions and deeds, now he’s trapped himself as well', 'time': '12:48 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'John-Paul Cote': 'And, yes, my name is French. While I have heritage, I don’t speak the language very well. I’m a teacher too. High school for twenty years.', 'time': '12:49 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thanks, Mike, I appreciate the feedback. I like the way he slowly breaks down and, in the end, the mystery of his character. The sheriff, I thought of Clint Eastwood in A Perfect World. Maybe the end sighting of the four should have been in the dust of the sheriff passing by. It’s supposed to show for all of his actions and deeds, now he’s trapped himself as well', 'time': '12:48 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'John-Paul Cote': 'And, yes, my name is French. While I have heritage, I don’t speak the language very well. I’m a teacher too. High school for twenty years.', 'time': '12:49 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,6hln54,BACK SEAT DRIVER,Susan Catucci,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6hln54/,/short-story/6hln54/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",12 likes,"
“End of Line for longtime fugitive Darrell Benjamin.”“Extradited from Canadian border, accused killer to face multiple charges.”Media outlets throughout the country ran similar headlines.And then:“Winter blizzard grounds multiple airports; record number flights cancelled across American Midwest.” * * * Rookie Police Officer Hap Davis sat behind the wheel of a partially thawed patrol vehicle. He had the heat turned up as high as it would go. He’d spent the better part of the morning scraping ice, brushing snow and clearing his sinuses in the biting cold.He checked the gas gauge and noted the time. The windshield wipers worked like a metronome to large snowflakes engaged in a chaotic ballet. Blizzards were a dangerous marvel; better to enjoy as a spectator than be caught in the middle of one.Hap didn’t mind. Born and raised in northern Maine, Hap could drive anything anywhere in any weather. More importantly, he’d been singled out for this high-profile assignment. He was to accompany Detective Broward, who was transporting an infamous criminal to face charges for multiple crimes. He had managed to elude apprehension for decades and now would be brought to what some would call justice. As a soothing warmth replaced the chill, Hap took his phone and scrolled to the picture of a man wearing a uniform similar to his own.What do you think, Dad? How long was it before you were tapped for a gravy assignment like this? I keep thinking you probably had something to do with it. Somebody’s looking out for me. Well, you know I’d trade all of it to have you around. All the good fortune in the world can’t. . .The car lights came on as the rear driver’s side door opened.  A small man wearing a grey oversized sweat suit and knit cap slid in. Detective Broward followed closely, taking the man’s cuffed hands and double-cuffing them to the bars separating the front and back seats.“Officer?” The prisoner, visibly cold and shaking, tried to get Broward’s attention and, failing that, turned to Hap.“I have carpal tunnel, you see.” He attempted to say with chattering teeth. “It won’t be long before I’ll lose all feeling and. . .”The passenger front door opened. Broward climbed in.“Dead man talking?” Hap didn’t move.   Dead man?The prisoner stared for a moment, then slid back into the seat.The detective fastened his seatbelt, then turned to Hap.“This as warm as it gets, Davis?   “Give it a minute, Detective. Good morning.”“Right. Why don’t you radio dispatch, tell them we’re on our way.”Hap checked his side mirrors.“Where’s the caravan? I thought we were being escorted.”The detective looked away.“Deemed unnecessary, scrapped at the last minute. Let’s go, Davis. You’re here to drive. So drive.”* * * On those midwestern days when grey clouds were thick and heavy with snow, they hung so low, it was nearly impossible to tell what time of day it was.  The earlier storm had subsided just enough to scatter the area with intermittent squalls that scrambled the air and senses for a moment before moving on.“Snow squalls remind me of women.”Hap looked over at the detective whose arms were folded, chin on chest, with eyes closed.Something tells me the last thing I want to talk about with this guy is women.“You warm enough back there?” Hap glanced in the rearview.“Kind of you to ask. Thanks, I am.”“How’s your carpal?”“Carpal tunnel. It’s killing me. I haven’t had the surgery yet. Probably won’t now.”“I’ll see about getting your cuffs lowered.”“That’s decent of you.”The detective stirred, mumbling.“It’s not happening.”Hap stopped himself from reacting.  The prisoner sank back.A squall encased them momentarily in a snow-globe whirl of crystal white. When they broke through, it was back to the snowflake ballet set to a windshield wiper beat.“Okay if I call you Darrell? You want anything? I’ve got water, coffee. Probably cold by now.”“Coffee would be great.”Hap glanced at the detective. He was awake and had been listening. He stared at Hap with mild amusement tinged with malice.“Unless you intend to pull over and bottle feed this vermin, do not offer something you can’t deliver.”“Detective, I have to ask . . .”“No, Rookie Officer Davis, you don’t. Let’s just get this straight so there’ll be no misunderstanding. I will not, under any circumstances, be lifting a finger to do anything that might come close to relieving any discomfort the prisoner may be suffering, now or at any time in the future. Understood?”Hap concentrated on his driving.The detective leaned closer, firing warning shots. “Is that a yes?”“Yes, sir. Just focusing on my job, sir. I’m just driving.”This is wrong.* * *They rode in silence, except for the hypnotic swipe of the wipers. As they crossed the border into a rural area, Detective Broward took his lukewarm coffee from the passenger door cup-holder and pried the lid off.  “Take this next exit.”Hap frowned.“Why?”The Detective remained silent.“Where are we going? Are you hungry?”“No. Now, Davis, listen closely. You will take the very next exit you come to.  In the hand not holding the coffee I am drinking, I have my service revolver fixed just so, aimed in a slightly upward trajectory behind your right ear and exiting just above your left ear. Tell me now, do you require any more explanation?”“No.”Hap signaled to make a right turn off the highway. He stared straight ahead.  You there, Dad?* * *Broward directed Hap to an abandoned out-of-service station. The gas tanks were covered and neglected, the convenience area boarded and deserted. The parking area hadn’t been plowed as often as the main road but Hap was able to get the vehicle where he was told to go.He parked behind the property next to a large grey dumpster. A short distance to the other side of them was a scene of evergreen perfection, boughs endowed with a shimmering coat of snow and ice. Staring an extra moment, Hap thought the sight too beautiful to be real. He forced himself to turn his attention back inside the car.“I know who you are.” Darrell directed this to Detective Broward without looking up.“You do? All right, you have permission to speak to me. Tell me, America’s Most Wanted, who am I?”Hap looked from captive to captor to captive again.  I don’t understand what’s happening here . . .“You’re the brother.”“Not a bad guess for a dead man.”Stop calling him that.“But still, it's wrong. Care to try again?”Darrell sat back, closing his eyes. He shook his head no.Hap began to speak and was quickly interrupted.“Just keep the motor running and the heat on. Oh, and crack the window so we don’t all die of carbon monoxide, ruin everything.""Hap looked at Darrell this time. He appeared the very embodiment of defeat. His sagging features said, “Oh, just get on with it.” Broward glanced at his watch.“Time for full disclosure, gentlemen.  That was actually a very good guess, dead man . . .”Hap blanched openly this time. “Will you stop calling him that.”Broward shot Hap a sharp look and immediately returned to Darrell. “I am not, as you surmised, the brother of your late wife, the woman you buried alive with her lover, bound and gagged together, so they could watch each other die.”“As the song goes. Yes, I remember.” Darrell’s attention was drifting.“Catchy little tune; not exactly meant for children's ears,” Broward continued, “As for the brother, he hired me to perform a service on his behalf.""Hap noted his proximity from the glove compartment, where he had stowed the practice revolver he'd signed out before being called away. All he was in immediate possession of was a badge.“Say, Davis, ever hear of the ‘Dirt Nap Killer’?“Of course.”“Well, you’re looking at him.”Hap, puzzled, looked at the frail man in the loose grey sweat suit. “Really?”“Just wanted to check; you really didn’t know.”“I didn't put the names together. I was just a kid at the time.”In reality, Hap had never forgotten the Dirt Nap killer. He was the boogeyman of his youth. He had an MO of burying his victims alive, most commonly together, couples, cheaters, and there had been a song going around about him at the time.He caught them together.So he tied them together,he gagged them together,he buried them together,while they were still alive,so they could watch each other die,together forever, they would lie.Dirt Nap Killa, say, why’d ya hafta kill her that way.Broward added. “Well, so, I know a guy who said he’d had a twin sister, and they'd been separated at birth. He'd gone to great lengths to find her. When he did, well, unfortunately, he never got to meet her because – well, you know the rest.”Hap frowned. “So, are you even a detective?”“All right, enough. I’m not here for an all-day Q and A, okay? All anyone needs to know is this: If you do as I say, justice will be served for most parties involved.  Now, Davis, I will tell you what I expect from you after I’m done with this. Do not interrupt me.”Hap nodded, frowning. “Okay. Now I have some options to offer you, Dirt Nap. I could blow your head off right here and now, and come up with a perfectly legitimate and reasonable explanation for doing so. This car has no cams, no recorders. No body cams.” Broward gave Hap a severe look.Hap pat his chest, shaking his head.“Now, you can imagine what follows, the mess, the aftermath. So, the next option is more creative and altogether a better one for you, I think. I release your handcuffs to make you more comfortable. You naturally make a break for it, try to escape.”Hap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Broward and the prisoner’s eyes locked.“I’ll give you a minute to think about it. My personal preference is that you run.” Broward then turned to Hap.“Now. You. Your role is really pretty simple. Whichever way the scenario goes, you will sign on to whatever I tell you. Simple. I’ve already had you assigned to be my shadow for the next six months, so I’ll be right there at all times in case there are any questions.”Dad, are you hearing this? Broward turned to the back seat. “So, what will it be? Headshot or flee? Of course, if you can’t decide, I can’t really force you to run without a cattle prod, can I? And we don’t need an extra set of footprints out there to confuse matters. So, there’s only one real alternative to fleeing. I’m sure we can manage the cleanup. What’ll it be?”“I’ll run.”“A wise choice.” Broward produced his keys. Hap was still staring at Darrell, dumbfounded. Just then, the prisoner gave him a barely perceivable nod and wink that only served to confused Hap more.Broward rolled down his window.“The beauty of your selection is you won’t know exactly when; you’ll be out in the elements, free. No bars, no running from anyone or anything . . . and it's over. Ah, well, enough of that.”Broward pulled the handcuffs to the opening in the bars and unlocked them with a click. Darrell dropped his hands as if they were bowling balls.Broward turned around in his seat, checking his revolver. When he was ready, he reached over to his door and disengaged the back passenger lock.“Whenever you’re ready, within reason.”I’m gonna be sick. Dad. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do.After taking several deep breaths, then a moment of silence, Darrell turned to Hap.“Thank you for your kindness.”With that, he put his hands on the car door latch, closed his eyes and bowed his head, and then stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he took a few steps forward. Then, like an aging football player running a play, he made a quick turn and then started walking directly toward the detective with his hands up .“Please don’t shoot me, officer!”Hap watched with horror. “You can’t shoot him!”“Don’t . . .”As the prisoner’s chest exploded, dozens of birds exploded out from the trees.  Broward continued firing until all that was left were hollow clicks.Broward felt the metal, then heard the words.“Drop it, Detective. Do it now.”Hap had taken advantage of the chaos to retrieve his own revolver and jam it into Broward’s back.Broward dropped the still warm gun in the snow where it sank and steamed slightly.“Hands behind your back. Slow.”Broward took a hand and brought it back around, where Hap took hold of it. As he brought his other hand around, he dipped into an inside pocket and withdrew a small pistol. Just as he brought it around, cocked and ready, Hap fired one shot through the detective’s hand. The pistol hit the dash and landed on the floor.The adrenalin in Hap’s system propelled him through subduing the detective, applying a tourniquet and dressing the wound, then retrieving the pistol and bagging it for evidence. He read the new prisoner his rights.Lastly, he reached for the car cellphone.Broward was slumped in his seat.“What are you going to say?”Hap ignored him.“The plan can still work. We can get his prints on the gun easy. It’s not too late. I’ll pay you.”Hap looked at the phone in his hand. Tiny buttons with numbers on them. So simple compared to all that goes on around them. They do serve a purpose though, don’t they. Maybe I can, too. I was lucky to have you for as long as I did, Dad. This one's for you.“Dispatch? This is Officer Davis, Badge 110. I need backup and an ambulance.”* * *In the short time it took the others to arrive, Hap spoke.“You knew it wasn’t going to work, right? Darrell saw to that. I've taken plenty of pictures of the scene untouched. The proof is right there, he was walking toward the car, not running away. He really pulled one over on you.”Broward was sweating. He spoke haltingly and grimaced through pain. “He pulled one over on all of us. I did a lot of research on this guy. He was going to die of cancer soon anyway. He just saved himself from withering away in a prison hospital.” Then Broward lowered his voice. “I thought I was doing him a favor.”“Nice. How much were you being paid? Not that it matters. Was it worth it, Detective? Is it ever?”“Look, Rookie, unless you’re telling me you have a law degree, I'm ending the conversation here. And I’m doing you the bigger favor; the less you know, the better.”Hap looked away. He could hear the sweet siren song of backup patrol cars, medical personnel, media vans and crime scene technicians. Soon they would all be swept up a different sort of squall, of endless questioning, followed by a blizzard of regulations and protocol, and none of it would be quick to dissipate. So, before help arrived and the circus began, Hap gazed at the gloomy sky. As he did, a single ray of midday sun broke through the clouds, landing directly on Hap’s chest where his badge shone like a beacon.
","August 03, 2023 17:16","[[{'Gavin Matthew': ""I liked this story. Felt like there was room for more dialogue but that didn't retract from the morals of humanity narrative. Always enjoy a good battle between views and ideals. Especially, for me, the point that justice and law don't equate to the same thing and despite that fact I can still cheer for Hap is a great feeling. Hap seems like the kind of law man that might be fair to a fault but still have his heart in the right place. As a fan of the crime/drama, I can honestly say that this was an enjoyable read."", 'time': '01:42 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'Sweet feedback- thank you, Gavin.  One of the best parts of storytelling is that you get to control the narrative.  There is no limit to where you can go or what you can do.  Lay it down and see what comes of it.  I’m glad you enjoyed the ride. :)', 'time': '02:29 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Sweet feedback- thank you, Gavin.  One of the best parts of storytelling is that you get to control the narrative.  There is no limit to where you can go or what you can do.  Lay it down and see what comes of it.  I’m glad you enjoyed the ride. :)', 'time': '02:29 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'I’ve driven some wicked Michigan winters and felt the cold from your work. Good story, Susan. It’s always satisfying when the good guy wins.', 'time': '15:12 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'I agree - thanks, Karen.  It was interesting harkening back to 40 degree days in Duluth.  Brrrr', 'time': '19:50 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'I agree - thanks, Karen.  It was interesting harkening back to 40 degree days in Duluth.  Brrrr', 'time': '19:50 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'A tangled web that slips together perfectly with honor and cool justice. I dug it, good story.', 'time': '21:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hey, thanks, Joe.  So glad you stopped by and read my tale of good and evil.  Fun fitting those pieces together.  :)   I'm happy to hear it worked in the end."", 'time': '20:00 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hey, thanks, Joe.  So glad you stopped by and read my tale of good and evil.  Fun fitting those pieces together.  :)   I'm happy to hear it worked in the end."", 'time': '20:00 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Susan,\nA riveting tale about street justice and the fortitude to do the right thing.\nHap can continue his career blameless and with his head held high.\nNicely told.', 'time': '03:07 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'Thanks a million, Chris.  The fun for me was remembering what winter felt like after moving to a warmer climate for the last 8 years.  Brrr, but there was beauty everywhere.  \n\nThe word ""justice"" holds a strange fascination with me.  I wonder if there is a true definition.  Fun exploration.', 'time': '13:42 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Thanks a million, Chris.  The fun for me was remembering what winter felt like after moving to a warmer climate for the last 8 years.  Brrr, but there was beauty everywhere.  \n\nThe word ""justice"" holds a strange fascination with me.  I wonder if there is a true definition.  Fun exploration.', 'time': '13:42 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'This is great Susan. Riveting stuff I was trying to think how hap could get out of this mess but the way it came together was perfect. Neat story, nifty ending, loved it', 'time': '21:24 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': ""I'm enjoying your feedback big time, Derrick - glad you liked it.  This one was like waiting in the wings, wanting to show itself.  the best part is now I can focus on reading instead of writing! Many thanks - I put off reading yours until I finished mine! :)"", 'time': '23:08 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': ""I'm enjoying your feedback big time, Derrick - glad you liked it.  This one was like waiting in the wings, wanting to show itself.  the best part is now I can focus on reading instead of writing! Many thanks - I put off reading yours until I finished mine! :)"", 'time': '23:08 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Happy for Hap.\nI  am supposed to critique this one this week. What can I say? You always do justice to a story and you heaped in on here.', 'time': '18:50 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': ""I knew a Hap back in high school, the only Hap I've ever come across.  Thought it was time for a revival.  :)  Thanks for reading, Mary!"", 'time': '19:11 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': ""I knew a Hap back in high school, the only Hap I've ever come across.  Thought it was time for a revival.  :)  Thanks for reading, Mary!"", 'time': '19:11 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,j120yw,"Empty Road, Full Mind",Paul Tucker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/j120yw/,/short-story/j120yw/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Sad']",12 likes,"
	He doesn’t know, and to put it frankly, I don’t want him to.
	“How was work today?” he asks me. I glance over at him, trying not to show him more attention than the road, and push out a response.
	“It wasn’t terrible, but it also wasn’t anything special either. Truthfully, it’s the same old, monotonous routine that I have been stuck in since I started there.” My hands grip the steering wheel a bit too tight as I finish my response; a sensation of anger tends to consume me when I ponder too long on this aspect of my life, and really it happens when I think of my existence as a whole. 
	I was sad at first, when I began to contemplate what I am doing, if I am ever going to be something more than a man who is confined to an office building five days a week. I fell into a noticeable depression, and although Francis had tried everything he could to pull me out of it, a part of me stayed in the rut. I don’t let it show, or rather I try not to, as he does look at me concernedly from time to time, like he is now as I can see him staring at me from my peripherals. I move my head slightly to once again look at him, and his head turns a little too quickly to look at the never ending, sprawling road in front of us.
	“I know work has been stressing you out,” he says softly. “You haven’t been as smiley as usual.” He caresses my right thigh gently, petting me like I’m a sad kitten in need of its mother. 
	“You really do know me better than anyone else,” I respond with a slight smile on my face. “But I think this weekend away will help me get into a better mindset. Alone time with my favorite guy, in one of the most beautiful coastal towns is something that could make even the most disheartened person happy.”
	This false sense of hope I display to him is almost even believable to me. I wasn’t telling him the truth though, it was simply the answer I know Francis would enjoy hearing the most. 
	“Well, good,” he says as a cheesy grin covers his face. “I’m honestly quite excited. The nature around here always leaves me breathless; I mean look at that sunset.” He points over the tree line to our right, and long strips of blue, pink, and purple sky are interwoven together. He sighs, leans forward, and puts his elbows on his knees as he props his head into his palms. 
	He sits like this for a few miles, and I can tell he is starting to nod off into a light sleep. 
	“Hey,” I say quietly, “Why don’t you lean back and take a nap? We still have a few hours to go before we make it there anyways; you might as well rest.”
	He looks at me with eyes that yearn for sleep, yawns, and gives in to my bargaining as he reclines. He falls asleep almost instantly; I knew he was tired. I am too, but not in the same way as him. I’m more so exhausted from living a life that I fear has no great joy in it. While Francis and I have been together for several years, three in December, and I love him dearly, there comes a breaking point where the want and need for change is the only thing that I find myself longing for. I don’t crave him like I used to. I don’t fantasize about the things we could do together, or what we could become in the future. I don’t see myself being with him within the next three months, or even weeks. And although this may be the case, I don’t see myself being without him, nor do I see us ever genuinely separating. The only picture that my mind conjures up when thinking about him and I is us laying side by side in a shallow grave. Our fingers are interlaced, never to be torn apart, and we will spend our eternities forever by each other’s sides. 
	Not an ounce of my being wants this though. No matter how hard I convince myself that he is the one for me, and I for him, the everlasting fear of confinement and living a life I find no genuine happiness in is one that is enough to drive me to insanity. I’m not positive if maybe this is a sort of psychotic breakdown that I’m experiencing, considering he has always been good to me, but I also don’t want to keep lying to myself and him.
	My breathing begins to quicken, so I try and recenter my focus on the road to distract myself from my wandering mind. There are hardly any fellow drivers around, and headlights and taillights can only be seen occasionally. It’s basically just him and I out here, alone, like usual. Alone in the sense that we spend every waking moment together, and I barely know what life is like without him. I need to know what a world that doesn’t revolve around him and work is like. A world in which I can still find pleasure in little things, and contentment in my daily life. This cannot be made possible though, if he is still in it. 
	I look over at him once more and ultimately decide that if I don’t do it now, the deed will never be done.
	I slow down, and drift over onto the right shoulder of the expressway. The rumble strip begins to shake the car, and I can see that it is stirring him awake. Francis’s eyes flutter open, and he sits himself up in the passenger seat. 
	He looks at me with a slight tinge of worry in his face, and asks, “What’s wrong, did we run out of gas?” 
	I put the car in park and lock eyes with him. I’m afraid tears will begin to form, but none do, as I know now that this moment is a turning point in my life for the better. 
	“I can’t do this anymore,” I say. “We need to break up.”
","August 04, 2023 02:17",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ulv2l9,Road Less Taken,Richard Seven,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ulv2l9/,/short-story/ulv2l9/,Dramatic,0,['Coming of Age'],11 likes,"
“I'm headed to Spokane. That on your way?”“I can take you two-thirds of the way. To Odessa. There are people there.”That was good enough for me. I crawled into the passenger seat of the bare, early-model van and tossed my duffle onto the middle row of seats.“Thanks, man. You’re the first ride I’ve seen all morning.”“Yeah,” the driver said. “They call this the other-other-other Washington for a reason.”The highway, which spans 130 miles, pierces eastern Washington state’s Big Bend country. It's flat, straight, sparse and wide open. It cuts through acres upon acres of wheat fields, and moon-like craters carved by ancient floods. Less than 15,000 people live within the vast swath.  Interstate 90, the traveling route of choice for those in a hurry, parallels the route to the south.We were not even a mile down the road when he said, “We got some boring miles to go before you see beautiful Spokane and my radio only plays static. Let's talk. What put you on this road and in my van?”“In my van…’’ That struck me as creepy.“What’s in Spokane?”“School. I’m enrolling at Gonzaga.”He let out a low whistle. “Expensive school. You couldn’t afford a bus ticket?”“I have $47 to my name. I got a full athletic scholarship. Baseball. My arm is the only way I could afford any college.”“You look like an athlete. What are you, 6’2, 6’3? And you’ve got courage. You don’t see many people other than locals up here. Most of us wouldn’t stop for a stranger. Whoever does is probably a sicko.”He snorted as I scanned the van, as dirty inside as it was outside.There was a big wooden box at the very back. Clothes, canteens and tools were strewn about. I then turned to assess him. His head was square like a concrete block and so big that his baseball cap was as inconsequential as a beanie. His hands were rough and expansive like mitts. Working hands. He looked to be in his mid-40s. He was pudgy but still muscled. He wore a smirk, what my mother called “an idiot face.""I kept my backpack at my feet – not because it held a weapon but because he might think it did.“Do you live out here?” I asked.“All of my life. I’m a farmer, part of a commune, you might say. I’ve been away for a spell, but I can’t quite get past this place.”IIThe engine hummed and the fields passed by. Hypnotizing.We finally exchanged names. “I’m Cade.” He said, ""Joshua.” I asked if he had ever been to college. He snorted. “I was home-schooled. College wasn’t an option.”He asked if I was eager for college. I admitted that was eager to be away from my parents. They were always pushing me to impress and achieve.“Gonzaga might be too much for me. I’m not much of a studier, but I can hit a fastball. I want to do well enough to get drafted by a major-league club by my sophomore year.”I launched into droning self-pity, casting my family’s attention and expectations as a nightmare. I found myself confiding to this guy, as if he was a therapist who might or might not kill me.“You play ball?” I asked.He snorted again.“Ball? Never had the time. My parents are very strict,"" he said. “I know about expectations, too.”We whizzed past acres of beige wheat fields and the state’s smallest town of 44. Suddenly, manicured green fields and towering poplars rose in the distance as if it were Oz.“I grew up there. In paradise,” Joshua said, “I’ll show you.”He turned the van up a rise. Within 10 minutes we were looking at a verdant vista. “Home,” he sighed.There were sprawling fields and orderly stacks of hay bales, a dairy barn, a plastic swimming pool, metal shops and verdant gardens. Men, women and children were in plaid. Males wore black work pants and suspenders. Women wore ankle-length dresses and scarves. They all moved with calm purpose.“Have you ever met Hutterites? Of course, you haven’t. We’re like the Amish, but we’re practical enough to use machinery to get stuff done. Almost 100 of us live down there. From birth, it is about work and faith and as little outside influence as possible.”He told me his people shun conveniences like television. If he was to find a mate, she’d have to be living in another colony and be willing to move there.“I was allowed to be foolish but never selfish. All of us work hard from a young age. I never minded the work. The lack of future is the issue.”“And I thought I was suffocated,” I said.He replied through gritted teeth, “We're not perfect. We work hard. We don't hurt anyone. We take care of ourselves. What's wrong with that?”IIIWe drove down to the highway. A sign read, “Odessa 15 miles.” His mood changed; he seemed eager. “Ever been on a treasure hunt?”“Not since I was 8,” I said.“Aren’t all hitchhikers risk-takers.”“Seriously, I have to get to Spokane.”“We’ll be done in 30 minutes.”“Done what?”He drove us north from the highway and into the Scablands, a vast terrain of hardscrabble rocks that NASA used to prepare unmanned vehicles for Mars. Cataclysmic floods caused rock formations and crevasses that spread like gnarled fingers over hundreds of miles. The midday summer heat, the desolation, and Joshua’s anxiety were making me sweat.“People around here hate us, anyway. They call us ‘Hoots’ and they love it when one of us strays. I just got out of prison.“I got two years for helping to rob an Indian casino. I was just the driver. Nobody was hurt. Cops only recovered some of the loot. I’m one of the rare fallen Hutterites. I brought shame on my commune. It would be best if I left, and I will once you help me get the cash.“Why me?”“I need another strong back. And you're here. The cash is hidden in one the coulees. Retrieving it is a two-man job. Once we get it, I’ll drive you to Spokane – with cash in your pocket.”“Sorry, but I’m not screwing up my future over stolen money. I won’t say anything. I just wanted a ride. I’m OK with being poor. You can stop right here and let me walk.”He stopped the van and pulled a pistol out of the console and laid it on his lap.“What the hell? I barked. Give me the gun and I’ll help.”He immediately handed it over, sniffling. He wasn’t a killer, just desperate.“I’m sorry,” he said. “You know how you must stand out? I must fit in. We’re different but the same. This money is my ticket to a new life. We’ll split the $70,000.”I just wanted to get down the road. “Let’s get this over with,” I said, slipping his gun under the seat.IVWe hiked crossed a 15-yard bedrock bridge that spanned a crater about 30 feet deep and 40 yards in diameter. We stopped at a crooked tree. Below it, we found a rectangular stone, long and flat like a coffin lid.“Time for some Hutterite ingenuity,"" he said, setting a lever system that enabled me to use an iron bar to prop the heavy slab ajar - enough for him to wedge a series of increasingly bigger boulders into the opening. When convinced it was stable, he tackled the void.He must have dreamt about this moment because he wasted no time shoving his arm right into the darkness. Within minutes he pulled out the canvas bag. He let out a scream that bounced off the canyon walls.I thought he was celebrating, but it was anguish. A rattlesnake had ahold of his left forearm. Joshua writhed and flailed. I scrambled closer. “Lie down,” I ordered. Once he did, I smashed the reptile with a jagged stone, killing it.“Odessa. Clinic.” He gasped.The van wasn’t far, but we had to navigate the bridge, which was wide enough for one person at a time. I pulled him up. “Hold on to me,” I commanded. I kept my feet wide and my base low - like a surfer - as we shuffled across the bridge as one. We leaned on each other as we inched forward.Once we made it across, I hooked one of his arms around my neck. That enabled us to move faster. His eyes were foggy. His shirt was soaked.“Money” he whimpered.“No time. It's your money or your life, idiot,” I said.I wrestled him into his van, laid him down and sped to Odessa. He was unconscious as we arrived, 45 minutes since the bite.Three hours later, I walked into his recovery room. He was weak, but the doctor said he was going to be fine, thanks mainly to prompt treatment. I gave him his car keys and leaned close when we were alone.“I went back there while they were working on you,” I whispered.“Your dough is in your van. I tossed that gun into the pit. I took $2,000 as my fee.”He smiled wanly. “Go hit homers. It’s great you’re not waiting too long like I did. We all have our own road to travel, I guess.""I tapped his chest. I cared about him.“Thanks for the ride.”
","August 02, 2023 20:08",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,mg6fr5,And Miles to Go Before I Sleep,Sarah Xin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mg6fr5/,/short-story/mg6fr5/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Coming of Age']",11 likes,"
The couple is young, with rosy, supple cheeks and wide grins. Happy. In love. The woman, brown hair and warm eyes, is beginning to show, and the glow of an expecting couple surrounds them.
 
His last owner had been happy, too.
 
They need a bigger car for the little one on the way, they tell the salesperson, who smiles and congratulates them. The three go inside to discuss terms, and then the couple returns with keys.
 
The first drive home shows that they are also gentle, as happy people often are. Brakes, pedals, wheel, seats, doors—all treated kindly and not unnecessarily forcefully. He appreciates it: he isn’t as young as he once was, which is why they had gotten a discount at the dealership.
 
But if they continue to treat him so gently, he will last some years more.
 
The baby comes in a rush of nerves and excitement, man and woman piling in and hurrying to the hospital, then disappearing into the white building for hours and days, and then coming back at last with a small bundle, tucked into the crook of the new mother’s arm.
 
She sleeps through their first meeting, but he doesn't mind. In fact, his favorite thing becomes circling through the neighborhood until her big eyes flutter shut and her breaths even out. He always makes sure to wish her sweet dreams as they pull as softly as they can back into the driveway and then get out and go into the house.
 
Soon she begins to crawl and walk and grow—so fast. The car seat is switched for a booster seat, and drives to preschool and then kindergarten and beyond become daily things.
 
He leans against her mother as they watch the girl run off to the school building with a wave every morning, and he waits in the carpool line for her return every afternoon.
 
Within a blink the booster seat is gone too, and lessons, extracurriculars, meetings with friends all begin. He learns her schedule and her friends’ names and faces; he celebrates her victories and mourns her losses.
 
Before he even knows it, she’s at the wheel. Her mother’s brown hair and warm eyes reflect in his rearview mirror, as well as freckles and tan skin and her father’s bright smile.
 
She’s so… big. She fills the driver’s seat, when before her legs would hang inches above the pedals. Now she steps on the pedals with echoes of the same kindness as her parents, and even though he doesn’t come out completely unscathed, he’s so happy for her when she earns her license.
 
She and her parents spend the day after the test giving him a thorough clean, digging up lost toys and school papers and other trinkets and laughing at the memories they bring to mind. He basks in the sun afterward, sparkling with the remnants of a wash, and looks forward to the next chapter of their lives.
 
He goes with her to college, driving through states they’ve never visited before, quiet countryside and windmill farms—he thinks of dandelion fluff and how it scatters into the wind.
 
I wish I could remember how to be happy.
 
He startles as the words jump unbidden into his mind, an old voice reverberating through him. Suddenly the scenery seems too desolate to focus on, so he turns his attention back to the girl, putting her months of singing lessons to use as she belts out songs with the radio. Her teeth flash as she laughs at her own out-of-tune voice, and something inside of him relaxes.
 
She’s happy, isn’t she? And that means it will all be okay.
 
College is a whirlwind of new experiences, clubs, jobs, friends, and places to drive. In the summers she goes on trips, takes on internships, and lives—freely. He’s with her every step of the way, even though he’s getting too old and even though there are better, newer cars out there.
 
He knows it’s selfish, but he’s glad she seems just as attached to him as he is to her.
 
But he isn’t built to last as long as he wants to. He can’t be with her for the rest of her life, even if he was witness to its initial stages. Even if he had watched her grow up. Even if he could still remember her as a 7-pound, 19-inch infant tucked into her mother’s arms.
 
Just once, he wants to see the middle section of someone’s life. He wants to see the adult years of her life. He wants to see what she would become and he wants to be proud of her no matter what and he wants to drive her to work every day and—
 
But the summer after graduation, he reaches his limit.
 
They’re driving back home to pick up some things for her new apartment in her new city where her new job is. He can feel from the beginning that this is his last drive, and he wonders if she can too because she seems even more gentle than usual.
 
It’s strange to be on the other side. He isn’t angry or upset or really anything but at peace. Yes, that’s it. He feels peaceful and content.
 
So when three quarters of the way into the drive his engine stalls, and the girl pulls off the highway into the grass, he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he might. He’s had several problems over the years, and they both know that this is the last time. Realistically, he could be repaired and keep running, but it’s time for her to move on.
 
It’s time for him to let go.
 
He had never really understood—and still didn’t, not completely—why his previous owner had done what they’d done, why they had left him behind and let go in all the ways a person can let go. There had been a life ahead of them, and they had thrown it away with such little fanfare.
 
But it hadn’t been their time. It’s his time right now. He has no regrets, except that he won’t be able to stay by his little girl’s side as long as he wants. And even then, at least he knows she’ll live a life he can be proud of.
 
That’s enough for him, he realizes as they sit and wait for her father to come pick her up and for the tow truck to take him away. Their twenty years together and this moment are enough for him.
 
It’s warm, here in the sun, with her in the driver’s seat.
 
He remembers, as he goes to be recycled and as he watches the girl and her father drive in the opposite direction, a winter’s day and a metal bridge, gray skies and the sound of a frigid river flowing by, the cold bite of a night spent alone and the splash of water far below—and he latches onto her warmth, lingering within him, instead.
 
He allows the warmth to bloom into new memories, being purchased by her parents, her arrival, her elementary and middle and high school days, her smile and her singing voice, and he knows that everything is going to be okay. Even though there had been days that weren’t happy ones, she was strong. And kind. And gentle.
 
Maybe his parts could be recycled into something she would see or use. Maybe he could belong to someone else just as happy and kind once again. Maybe he could prevent a tragedy the next time.
 
Or maybe he would simply cease to exist, reach that immortal plane where his first owner had gone and take them anywhere that would make them happy again.
 
He doesn’t know, but somehow he thinks that it will all work itself out. He’s done all he can, and now it’s time to pass the wheel over to someone else.
","August 03, 2023 19:35","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very unique take on the prompt  . Very sweet and also emotional. I felt for him;(', 'time': '13:20 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sarah Xin': 'Thank you for reading!', 'time': '03:01 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sarah Xin': 'Thank you for reading!', 'time': '03:01 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen McDermott': ""Look at me; tearing up over a car. I liked what you've done here. And what a wonderful use of the title."", 'time': '10:03 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sarah Xin': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '03:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sarah Xin': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '03:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,o30796,Big Country,Anna Forsyth,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o30796/,/short-story/o30796/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Coming of Age']",10 likes,"
The plan was to recreate Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty’s road trip from Kerouac’s On The Road. Jack said he wanted to be Hunter S. Thompson instead. I told him that was the wrong book. We had a fierce argument for three miles (passing by roughly twenty thousand corn fields) until I realized he was just trying to piss me off. He threw his head back and laughed, closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the morning sun before refocusing the road. I yanked on his ear and he laughed again, running his hand through his bleached blonde hair; he was too beautiful to be mad at. Jack was too beautiful for a lot of things.
 
He was certainly too beautiful for Des Moines, Iowa. We had to get out, we’d die there, he’d said, more than once. But we’d live there too, I once retorted. I hadn’t meant to be funny but Jack cackled until his eyes watered. My ability to amuse Jack was just one of the ways he had improved the way I saw myself. When Jack wandered amiably into my gray, country life in Grade Eight, I was in awe of him; I had never seen anyone as pale and glowing as he was. He floated to my desk, returning a pencil I had dropped; he sat behind me, lent forward and said in a whisper, his voice dripping with a wonderful out-of-town strangeness, “Great doodles, man.” And that was that. In the months that followed, I didn’t see any of my other friends, dropping them like rocks I had carried in sticky hands through a long nature hike realizing I no longer had use for them; I became ever more infatuated with Jack and his shining energy. 
 
One summer sleepover, I took advantage of Jack finishing up his chores and slipped into his leather jacket, drinking in his scent from the lapels. He must be stealthier than I had previously given him credit, for he was in the room and watching before I even noticed. Nothing was said at the time apart from a mumbled apology accompanied by flushed cheeks and a hasty disrobing but in the morning, he asked me gently if I was in love with him in any way. Faced with the alternative, I was forced to admit my obsession; that I didn’t want to be with him, I wanted to be him. His eyes searched me, trying to understand but he never would. Ever since, Jack has made it his personal mission to get me to fall in love with myself, to get me to see the guy he insisted everyone else saw, the guy he did. And to some extent, it worked. That was the wonder of Jack Montreux.
 
 
The persnickety side of me wanted to go to New York and start our journey from there, just as Sal Paradise had. Jack had said sure, if I wanted to pay for gas and do all the driving. I had been tempted to consent to these terms, just for the sake of being thorough. No, Jack resolved, Des Moines was the third stop on Sal’s itinerary, we’d pick it up from there. Besides, all this was fun but we had to remember that we weren’t Dean and Sal, that we would never be, we were ourselves and wasn’t that enough for anyone? I reluctantly agreed that it was. It was under this good-natured contract that we made our way to North Platte, Nebraska, squabbling over control of the radio and waving goodbye to Farm Country, counting off the things we’d never have to do again.
 
Eventually we’d have to figure out something for money, our paper route savings could only get us so far and we couldn’t panhandle our way across the country on a couple of dollars like Sal had. Different times, I sighed, equal parts yearning and relief. We had enough to get us to Reno, the sixth stop, if we were careful. Jack suggested we make our money in the casinos. He was joking, I think. It’s hard to tell with Jack sometimes, such is his enigma. Still, we’d have to have a plan; freedom and autonomy could only satisfy us for a few days at the most. I’m the worrier of the two of us unsurprisingly, but even I was caught up in the clichéd Open Road feeling. It was a big country, and I needed to see it. There was no denying now that there was more to the world than our own little lives. It was thrilling.
 
Given our shared loathing of the farm country of our home state, Jack had tried to haggle for missing out our Nebraska stop. He wasn’t the Beat Poets obsessive that I was, though he had never scorned me as others had for being so consumed by youth culture that was never my own but that of two generations before. But I could tell my fixation was now beginning to irritate. Unlike me, Jack had always been comfortable enough in his own skin not to waste half his life wishing himself into that of a fictional other. He had offered me various combinations of Steak ‘n’ Shake, extra hours of driving and his beloved leather jacket. I was desperate for that jacket but I couldn’t make him part with it. Plus, I had this feeling in my bones that we should start things out right. I stiffened my resolve; we were heading to North Platte.
 
It was a testament to Jack’s trust in me that he acquiesced. We were lucky to have that in our friendship. It made up for a lot of inadequacies in the rest of our lives. Though there came a point when the monotony overwhelmed, when we weren’t able to save each other, or even ourselves, not if we had stayed where we were. Like a sordid affair, or other such uncomfortable truth, we had to get out. We didn’t stop driving until we crossed the state line.
","July 31, 2023 02:30","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'A journey in the footsteps of a hero to try and find a version of yourself you are comfortable with, to love yourself and not live in a fictional world. Some excellent writing in here Anna and deeper message than it seems.\n\nGood job 👍', 'time': '12:00 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ki52kf,Lightning Strikes,Stevie Burden,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ki52kf/,/short-story/ki52kf/,Dramatic,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Drama', 'Suspense']",10 likes,"
Lightning Strikes
Stevie Stephens Burden
 
“Looks like some rain out there,” my traveling partners says, as she leans a little forward in her seat peering out at the sunlit road before us, looking in the direction that we will soon be heading.
 
I agree. I don’t know if she is ready for the rains that come in this part to the country. Unlike our Oregon rain, when the rains hit here, it is usually from clouds that pile up and rub together to create wind and thunder the likes of which we rarely if ever see on the coast. They dump the kind of torrential rains that cause flash floods and wash outs; that were my mother’s great fear. She would tell me her stories of growing up in east Texas and how she almost lost two of her younger brothers to such a storm. You can’t even really call them storms, most of the time it is a huge bank of clouds, angry and black, while all around it is still blue skies and easy driving.
 
 We keep heading west paralleling the ever-growing black clouds. They ride our shoulder all day as we make our way across the flat dry country of Oklahoma’s panhandle. I had taken my dear friend, Cindy B to Tahlequah in the eastern part of the state and the heart of the Cherokee lands there.  The tribe does not have a formal reservation in Oklahoma but has jurisdiction over 7,000 square miles in the Northeastern part of the state. They are almost due south from the place where my mother was born in Tar Creek. 
 
It is afternoon as we turn to the south and head toward Texas. Our goal of making it to my niece’s house just outside of Dallas tonight. We can see the big rain clouds are still there but they are still far away. The only difference is, now we’re heading straight toward them.
 
By the time we finally reach the storm it is still daylight on the road but beneath the clouds it is dark. Very dark. Middle of the night dark, except when it lights up with lightning. We can see that we are going to be driving through the middle of a wind farm; big giant windmills slowly turn in silence but I know that they call to the lightning to come to them. Huge metal beacons that are like magnets for the bolts of electricity that dive from the sky. Then the rains hit us so hard that I can’t see the road in front of me and I am forced to slow way down. I can’t see anything. There are times when the drops are so big and coming so fast that I not only can’t find the yellow line, there is an inch of water covering the entire road and even on high the wipers can’t keep up. 
 
As we drive under the roaring canopy of the massive thunderclouds it feels as if the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. The deeper into the blackness we go, we both hold our hearts and breath. Finally, when the blackness finally rolls over us everything turns silent. Even the winds have stopped as if they, too, hold their breath. Then comes a loud clap of thunder and the air turns electric, standing our arm hair on end. It is as if air and thunder are declaring an emergency and the electricity in the air builds like a defibrillator preparing to shock a dying heart; the air cries clear, a bolt of lightning rips down out of the clouds hitting the ground with jarring intensity. Then another bolt and another and another. Step by step the glowing rods of electricity move toward us; attracted by the towering wind mills that surround us. The winds return is like a hammer, the rain is blinding, and there is no pause between the claps of thunder and the lightning that is so much closer. 
 
I have no choice but to keep moving not trusting that four tires will protect us from everything that is coming toward us out of the dark. 
 
Finally, out of nowhere, we come up behind a big semi-truck with his flashers on. I hadn’t even seen him until I was right on his tail. Rolling just a bit faster than a crawl, I tuck in behind the big rig and breathe for the first time in what seems like forever. I loosen my grip on the wheel just enough to stretch my fingers a little to stop the cramping from having had a death grip on it for what seems like hours. I am so relieved to see something – someone - out here in the middle of this storm from hell; just knowing we are not alone in this is a relief. I am grateful to follow his tail lights through the deluge that shows no signs of letting up. 
 
And then the lightening hits and keeps hitting just ahead of us bringing the dozens of the giant windmills surrounding us into stark relief. It is dark as night at two in the afternoon. The death grip returns and I live in fear of losing sight of the flashing lights. We continue to move as we enter the heart of the storm - barely. The truck inches forward slowly – so incredibly slowly it feels like the tires barely move, as my heart hammers in my chest. 
 
Then comes a bolt; bright and big and close, really close. I jump and almost lose my grip on the wheel. There is no pause, the thunder is immediate and so loud it hurts. Then another bolt strikes about ten feet from the passengers’ side of the car. My friend remains totally silent and unmoving, looking toward the spot where the bolt just hit and her hair rises slightly with the electricity in the air. I wonder out loud if she is even awake. She turns to look at me with her eyes the size of saucers. 
 
“Don’t stop,” is all she can manage as the thunder rolls and bolts strike and breaths are held. 
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 18:42","[[{'Paul Tucker': 'Hey Stevie! I think you are able to set the scene here quite well, and I can not only picture the weather you are describing, but also how the characters are reacting to such a sight. \nOne thing I would like to note is that sometimes the flow is a little choppy when you go from one moment to the next. I think if you expanded a little more, say added just a few more details to create a complete sentence and then another, this would make it even better. \nThank you for sharing your work though, I genuinely had a fun time reading it! (Plus, I re...', 'time': '21:03 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kate Abbasi': 'Hi Stevie! I enjoyed reading your story. The storm you described is horrific, and I hope never to experience this phenomenon. I am confused about ""the rains that come in this part to the country.""  You mention Oregon, your mother growing up in Texas, and the Oklahoma panhandle. I believe when you finally caught up with the storm you are in Texas, but I am not certain. A few more details in the right place will greatly improve the story.', 'time': '19:27 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1sfc9j,Just Another Family Car Trip,Diane Tolley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1sfc9j/,/short-story/1sfc9j/,Dramatic,0,"['Funny', 'Kids', 'Creative Nonfiction']",10 likes,"
Traffic has slowed to a crawl.
Not a usual thing for a small, semi-hard-topped, two-lane, secondary road twisting through the foothills of Southern Alberta.
The Stringams join the end of an already long line of cars.
Dad peers ahead through the windshield. “Huh. Weird.” 
“What on earth could be causing this?” Mom spits on a Kleenex and starts to scrub the face of her youngest son, Blair, perched on the seat between them. “Careful with that chocolate bar, son, you’re getting it on your father.”
“Can’t see, yet. But the line will be straightening out soon and…ah!”
The line has done so and disclosed the culprit.
A house.
White clapboard.
Two storey.
Not something you see in the middle of the road every day.
Usually that’s reserved for bungalows…
“Well, look at that!” Dad exclaims.
Immediately, everyone—except Diane who is perched happily in the back window with a book—surges forward, poking their heads over the front seat. 
Important note: It’s the ‘50s. Seatbelts and safety measures and car accidents haven’t been invented yet.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Jerry asks. “Is that a…Why is there a house in the middle of the road?”
Dad shrugs. “Obviously someone is moving it to a better spot.”
“A whole house?!”
“Yup.”
“How do they do that?” George has joined the conversation.
“They get a big giant to pick it up and set it on that trailer.”
“Mark!” Mom chides.
“Cool!” George says. “Could we get a giant to come and move our house?”
Jerry rolls his eyes. “Dad’s teasing you, Pimple Pants!”
“Don’t call me ‘Pimple Pants’!”
“Why not? Pimple Pants!”
George dives for Jerry and the two start to wrestle.
“Boys!” Mom reaches over the seat and tries to separate them physically.
Without effect.
“Hey!” Dad warns. “Don’t make me come back there!”
Silence. 
Then, “George started it.”
“I did not!”
“Boys!!” When Dad roars like that, you know it’s past time to shut up.
Compliance.
The house creeps along. The Stringams creep along behind it, more cars joining them every minute or so like the growing tail of some large, unwieldy monster.
“Mom! I have to go potty!” Blair is standing on the front seat, holding himself. He starts doing the dance.
“I wonder if he knows we’re here.” Mom pulls her eyes away from the house 15 cars ahead and nods at her youngest son. She pulls the potty out from under her seat. “You’ll just have to go while we’re moving, dear. We don’t want to lose our place in line.”
Dad rolls his eyes. Right. Because the Stringams will be left behind as the rest of the line of traffic moves off at 10 MPH?
“Mom! I hate going when the car is moving!”
“Well, try not to miss.” She turns to Dad. “How long till the turn?” 
“At this rate? About three days.”
The family is heading to the relatives for dinner. Mom and Dad are beginning to hope that their food tastes ‘just as good the second day’.
Mom opens her car door and dumps out the potty, then wipes it out with the spit Kleenex, stuffs it back under her seat and drops the used tissue into her handy-dandy paper bag trash receptacle.
She glances around at her brood. Three of the older four, bored with watching the slowly moving house, have once again scattered across the wide back seat. Jerry and George are now arguing over a car magazine. Chris is reading. Diane is still in the back window—still with her nose in a book. Mom narrows her eyes. A notoriously poor traveler, Diane looks like she’s getting rather green around the gills.
Mom frowns. Might be a good time to distract Diane. She glances out the window, hoping to spot some horses, the only thing known to pull Diane from a book.
But the landscape remains depressingly horse-less.
Blair is now happily parked in his spot between Mom and Dad, looking at the pictures in one of his brothers’ comic books.
Baby, Anita, is perched on Mom’s knees, nose against the window and half-filled bottle of cream soda in her lap.
“Mom! I wanna drink!” George has given up trying to wrench the magazine from his older brother and is now sitting with his arms crossed on the back of the front seat.
“Okay. I just get one here…” Mom mimes taking a glass and turning on a tap. “There you go!”
“Mom! A real drink! Of Pop!”
Dad glances back at his second son. “There’ll be plenty of pop in the well when we get there!” 
“You can have some of mine!” Anita offers her bottle.
George looks at the pale-pink liquid that started out a brilliant red and makes a face. “That’s okay. I can wait.”
“Mom? I’m car sick!” Diane has emerged from the back window and her book on her own.
Not a good sign.
Again the potty comes into play. Diane now sits with it in her lap.
“How much further?” Chris has come up for air.
“A year or two,” Dad again leans forward and peers through the front windshield.
“I’ll tell a story!” Mom volunteers. She proceeds to drag out her Reader’s Digest and regale the family with a humorous gem about being raised in the ghettos of New York.
The story winds down and she closes the magazine.
George sighs. “I’m bored.”
Mom blinks. That was fast. Then her face lights up. “Let’s play a game! How about 20 questions?”
Jerry drops his magazine to the floor. “Okay! I’ve got it!”
“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”
“Animal.”
“Is it dead?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey! You can’t have maybes! Only ‘yes’ or ‘no’!”
The game is played to its usual conclusion.
Elvis.
And another round starts.
Blair and Anita have fallen asleep.
Mom rescues the offensive cream soda bottle just before it tips over. She again opens her car door and discretely empties it out onto the road.
Dad imagines, for a moment what it must be like to follow the Stringam’s car at 10 MPH. Heads bobbing about. Car door opening periodically to expel various fluids. “Oh, look!” He grins and points. “The house is pulling over!”
Mom laughs. “Now that’s not something you hear often!”
Mom always manages to keep her sense of humour. It’s a gift.
Slowly, the line of cars begins to pull out around the house like a stream finding its way around a large, clapboard stone.
Dad pulls up beside the house driver and gestures to Mom, who rolls down her window. “Why don’t you get a travel trailer, like everyone else?” he shouts with a grin. 
“I’m so sorry!” the driver shouts back. “Were you following me long?”
About four years, three months, twenty-one days, and thirteen hours, Dad thinks. “Oh, no. Not long!” 
They wave to each other and the Stringam car moves off.
Just another family car trip.
 
","August 01, 2023 20:21","[[{'Tristan Tolley': 'Well done! Delightful!', 'time': '20:28 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Tacos 1000': ""Oh man I've been on one of Those car trips a time or two..."", 'time': '22:29 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,opnfvx,Little red car,F. Mint,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/opnfvx/,/short-story/opnfvx/,Dramatic,0,"['Sad', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",10 likes,"
Little red car
 
Little red car, where are we going? Remember when we used to pretend you were a racing car - McQueen - and you spoke back to us? We used to drive down to the lake, every morning, past the train station. We used to say hello to Koko and wave at her, before parking the car and walking by the lake, then to the playground with the slides. Koko, of course, was the train in the station. We were always disappointed by how silent she was, never a “chug-chug” back, when we said hello.
 
Many years have past and I’m still driving. Not by the lake. Here there is a winding hill road, if you look down you see the sea, beautiful with the white foam of the waves dissolving onto the rocks. In the distance, we can see seagulls in the sky, and boats, still asleep, just floating by.
 
So it’s just you and me, little car. I no longer have a little boy who wants to race on McQueen and say hello to Koko. I don’t feel a day older, but life goes on. I follow the coast road, carefully, only the guard-rail separates us from a 1km drop into the sea. Soon there will be lots of traffic, people going to spend the day at the beach, but I’m headed for the tower - It’s nothing to look at, really, but it’s high up and you can see everything from there. I’m going to park the car near the tower and look at the beach, at the people arriving early to choose the best spot, with their parasols and beach towels. The kids with floating body-boards. The fishermen, who look around, disappointed that the night has already past, while they pick up their tackle and start heading home.
 
I stop the car and look around me - the landscape is a work of art.
“Why are you here?” - he asks.
“You know why I’m here” - “You used to go driving too, why did you do it?”
“The roads are dangerous, petrol is expensive, your family don’t know where you are… Why are you here?”
“I want to be one with the sky, the sea, the rocks, the foam, the breeze - can you feel the breeze? It’s like the a mother caressing my skin, she’s telling me to come home.”
“Go home then”
“Where’s home? You used to get in the car and go, maybe for a week at a time. Where did you go?”
“I was working, I was building your future”
“Nobody can build anybody’s future but their own”
“You’ve grown”
“I’ve had to”
 
I keep looking down. I look at the rocks, how the water breaks and the particles fly up and dissolve into thin air, they become mist and haze… I wish I could do the same. It’s so beautiful here, if I were and artist I’d paint this scene… maybe in an impressionistic style… but that is the point.
 
“What’s it like, on the other side?” - I ask.
“There is no other side”
“But you’ve come back to see me, where were you?”
“I’m always with you”
“Do you live inside the car, now? You know, I never want to give up this little red car, because it was yours”
“I’m not in the car. I’m in you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand you then. I understand you now.”
“Don’t make my same mistakes, then.”
 
I close my eyes. Do I want to cry? What’s so overwhelming, is it what I’ve lost, or what I still have? I suppose it’s a choice.
 
I look at the rocks, at the sea. I picture myself flying, and then dropping, hitting the rocks, the car splitting in many parts, the surf engulfing us… the end. Would it be the end? Would anybody cry at my absence? Will they be happier, not having to deal with my nagging, my moods, my problems?
 
But the sea… I can’t pollute the sea. I can’t let some poor tourist find me. The fish won’t care. And - there is no other side - 
 
Little car, it’s lovely here, isn’t it? Little car, we wouldn’t just be leaving our sadness behind, but also the joys, most of all the beauty… It is beautiful here, isn’t it? Little car, why don’t we drive a little longer?
 
Slowly, I pull out, back onto the winding road. I keep driving carefully, going uphill, following the rising sun.
 
“You need to be going in the opposite direction - you’re heading away from home and the sun is hurting your eyes”.
“You’ve always got practical advice”
“What other advice is there?”
“Why hasn’t life been what I was promised when I was little? Why is it so hard?”
“It’s not over yet. It will get better, if you let it.”
“What do I have to do?”
“You’ve never followed my advice, so I no longer have any to give… Look at the road, it is dangerous, narrow and with a 1km drop on one side. The sun is hurting your eyes. I told you to turn back and go home, but still you follow the sun. This is you. You follow the sun and then you pay the price. Would you rather do anything else? You chose your road, now you have to follow it because there’s nowhere to turn.”
“Will you hold my hand?”
“Not really safe while you’re driving… but I’m always with you.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“I got to the end of my road… but I didn’t leave you.”
 
Little car, do you think they’ve noticed we are not at home? Will they have woken up? Will they be looking for their coffee, their breakfast? Little car, why can’t they make their own breakfast? Why do I always have to look after everyone when I can barely look after myself? Little car, I miss them.
 
The sun is higher up now. It’s very hot. Little car, I haven’t packed any water. I wasn’t planning on going back. Little car there’s a turn off right ahead, shall we take it? Little car, will you take me home? It’s not time to quit yet. We can do it. Little car, we are on this road and we can’t be anywhere else, but every time there’s a turn off we get to choose whether to take it or go straight on. Little car, did you know I had a co-pilot? and he’s always with me even though I don’t listen to him and I don’t do as he says. But he’s there. Little car let’s go home to our family. They’re so irritating. They don’t listen. They don’t do as they’re told. Because we love them so much, and we can’t leave them.
 
","August 02, 2023 08:53","[[{'Jeannette Miller': 'I really like the melancholy feel of this story. It\'s a bit confusing here and there with the conversation. Like, I\'m guessing the main character is talking to their dad or someone significant who used to take them driving in the car. They\'re gone and the main character has grown up but is still grieving. In the third paragraph, did you mean to write, ""I no longer am a little boy""? It says ""have"" currently. \nThe fluidity of the story is quite moving, just a little clunky in spots. A solid first submission. Welcome to Reedsy!', 'time': '19:46 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'F. Mint': ""Thank you Janette! Yes, I've read it again and it is a little bit confusing. And you're right, maybe there was no need to add yet another character - the little boy - who is just a memory - or maybe I should have written a bit more about him to make it clearer.  It was my intention to show the continuity of family, when the car has known all of them, three generations."", 'time': '12:08 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'F. Mint': ""Thank you Janette! Yes, I've read it again and it is a little bit confusing. And you're right, maybe there was no need to add yet another character - the little boy - who is just a memory - or maybe I should have written a bit more about him to make it clearer.  It was my intention to show the continuity of family, when the car has known all of them, three generations."", 'time': '12:08 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kyle Sager': 'You\'ve got some really gorgeous bits of writing in here. I especially loved “Nobody can build anybody’s future but their own."" Very poignant. I love this meditative, thoughtful prose you have, my favorite type of writing. And your descriptions of the seaside were simple yet magnificent. \n\nI echo some of the same sentiments of Jeannette\'s earlier comments, as there are some clunky bits that make the entire narrative a little murky and confusing to the reader. The repetition of ""little car"" throughout the end of the story in every beginning se...', 'time': '21:52 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'F. Mint': ""Yes, I'm learning. I'll keep your comments in mind for my next piece, thank you for the feedback!"", 'time': '10:21 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'F. Mint': ""Yes, I'm learning. I'll keep your comments in mind for my next piece, thank you for the feedback!"", 'time': '10:21 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,zm9r4m,The Commute,Audrey McKenna,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zm9r4m/,/short-story/zm9r4m/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama']",10 likes,"
	The rain came down torrentially as Randall did his best to slide down into the driver’s seat. Despite his efforts, water poured in defiantly through the cracked door, fully soaking the leather that his pants would now have to rest upon for the next fifty-seven minutes, according to his GPS. Great. 
	Disgruntled, and now uncomfortably wet, Randall reached over and set the soggy paper bag that contained the chocolate-covered nuts he was currently marinating his pants in rainwater for onto the passenger seat. Up until this point, he had been sitting forward to avoid also wetting the leather behind him, and he now wrestled off his raincoat, balled it up, and set it on the passenger seat floorboard. He turned on his car, looked over at the paper bag with the stupid chocolate covered nuts inside, reconsidered setting them on his leather seats, and moved them to the floorboard. 
	That’s it. That’s all the dilly-dallying he had done inside his car, if you could even call that dilly-dallying, because a man could take a moment to get settled and orient himself of course, before someone honked at him.  
 Beep!  
	The horn was pathetic, but the message was clear. It instantly pissed him off. He couldn’t imagine honking at a person knowing that was the sound his car was about to produce. Or honking at a person here in general! This was a public parking lot after all, and if they wanted such a coveted spot near the front of the organic grocery store entrance you would think they could exercise thirty seconds of patience. People were so entitled these days.  
	He put his car in reverse, flipped the offending driver the bird, and pulled off towards the stoplight at the exit of the lot.  
	He hadn’t wanted to stop at that god-awful store in the first place. The store trendily entitled itself a “farmer’s market,” and, okay, it had some good snacks you couldn’t get at the normal grocery, but he didn’t understand what about it exactly allowed it to assume the label of a farmer’s market, since it was a corporate chain and all.  
	That always kind of bothered him. He felt like the store was a bit pretentious, and everyone shopping there carried themselves accordingly, with their own strong air of pretentiousness. Everyone except him, obviously. Which was another thing that bothered him, that those people had no idea that he wasn’t pretentious, and that the fact that he had been forced to stop there did not mean he was one of them. Absolutely not.  
	He wasn’t surprised to be running an errand against his will. It didn’t matter that the last thing he wanted to do after working in that stuffy building for the past eight hours was run out in the rain to stop at the snooty people store. On the clock or off, his time always belonged to someone else.  
	His wife had “asked” him if he minded stopping by when he got off work, and although he had expressed mild discontent with the idea, she had pressed, and that was that. He knew he would never know peace if Katie didn’t get her way. All Katie was thinking about was this weird idea she had become obsessed with that the chocolate-covered nuts were essential to the perfection of the evening, and that’s all Katie was going to think about until she got what she wanted: tonight being perfect. Her impossible expectations always set her up for disappointment and he was always the one who had to deal with the fallout. 
	The light turned green and Randall accelerated through the intersection, signaled his lane change, and took the exit towards the highway.  
	“At least it’s just a straight shot from here!” Katie would chirp whenever she was in the car, and now Randall thought of it every time he was in the car. It always rubbed him the wrong way, because they always hit traffic at this part of the highway, inching bumper to bumper for miles before he would be finally able to cruise for the last few minutes. This part of the drive still sucked. Why couldn’t they just let it suck, without trying to guilt and shame themselves into convincing each other that it didn’t totally suck? 
	Anyways, here he was, once again creeping through this miserable parade with all the other corporate slaves trying to beat each other home. It was so dystopian that all of them willingly made this journey every single day, willingly clogged up the roadways all at the same time so that a half-hour trip easily turned into an hour, or longer, to go to jobs that they hated and then back to homes that cost too much to maintain and weren’t even big enough to live in. And here Randall was, right along with them. Like always. 
	A car cut him off and he casually nursed his brakes, letting it happen. Whoever that guy was, he was clearly in a rush to get home. Randall wasn’t. 
	Home wasn’t so bad most nights, to be fair, but tonight, it was not somewhere Randall was looking forward to being. Tonight, Katie’s mother was coming over for dinner, and Katie’s mother and Randall did not get along. It wasn’t that Randall never liked Katie’s mother, but Katie’s mother did not like Randall. Nothing he did ever seemed enough to win her over. And after a while, someone not liking you starts to feel like a genuine reason to not like them back. 
	He wasn’t torn up about it. They were two people who just did not jibe, and honestly, he wished that they could agree to mutually avoid each other and move on with life. He had no problem with Katie hanging out with her mother, he just didn’t care to be a part of it. She didn’t want him there, he didn’t want to be there, Katie was the only one who seemed to find a weird pleasure in torturing them both. She seemed to have this idea in her head that if they could all just pretend that they were a big happy family, they would magically become one someday, and she refused to drop the charade.  
	The rain pounded the windshield in a steady rhythm. In tune with the wipers squeaking routinely back and forth, it provided the only music in the car as Randall continued to drive on in silence. The bag holding the chocolate covered nuts was nestled comfortably in his raincoat on the floorboard beside him. 
	Those stupid chocolate covered nuts were a treat for Katie’s mother. He didn’t understand Katie’s relentless efforts to impress her. Personally, he had long since discovered she was not a woman who was going to be impressed. Two years ago, though, Katie had brought them to her mother’s Christmas party where the woman had made a mildly positive comment about them. Katie considered them a staple to have out for her mother’s visits ever since. And she just assumed Randall would pick them up for her. Like always.  
	The drive lulled on, and the rain was coming down so heavily that it formed sheets of water as it poured down the car windows. It was nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead, making the traffic somehow even worse than usual. It figured his drive would be terrible. His day had been terrible, and his evening was going to be terrible. 
	Work had been one headache after another today. He had spent his entire morning solving problems that never should have existed in the first place and hearing patronizing comments about it from his boss the entire time. And tomorrow it would start all over again, he would open his computer to the same problems from different clients, and he would start from ground zero having to hit all his daily call counts and books for the day.  
	The media screen of his car lit up, the area code immediately betraying that it was a client who had gotten their hands on his personal number in a last-ditch effort to seek help with some “emergency” at the end of the day. It was as if he had negatively manifested it, he had been ruminating on how much he hated his job and here it was to remind him of exactly why. The clients had no respect for his boundaries. He reached over to decline the call, but the cheap touchscreen didn’t register his finger.  
	God dammit. He poked at it again and again, jamming the tip of his finger unnaturally, but to no avail. He leaned over farther, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to press the button more accurately. He hovered his index finger very pointedly over the red circle, double checked his aim, and pushed down with intention. 
 BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! 
	The shock of the horn snapped his eyes back to the road. He had mistakenly swerved towards the right-hand side and was seconds away from sliding underneath the semi beside him and into imminent death. His fear took over. There was no need for thinking, his hands instinctively jerked the steering wheel back into position. 
	The car behind his had made a desperate, piercing honk. That was the only thing that stood between him and becoming nothing but sludge smeared across the underbelly of a Peterbilt. His heart pounded at the gravity of what had almost been- his car, the leather seats he had been so proud to upgrade- shredded to bits, the metal frame crumpled up and twisted like a bug caught in a mower.  
	One wrong second and he would never get another.  
	His hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel firmly now with both hands. He could feel a bead of sweat running slowly down his forehead.  
	He was struck by the thought of his own mortality. He couldn't shake it. He imagined his funeral, how the people he knew would react to losing him. Would they miss him? Would they gossip about him in hushed voices at his own wake, tsk tsking and reducing him to yet another cautionary tale of distracted driving?  
 Would anyone even care? 
	Randall shook away the thought as quickly as it had come to him. His chest felt so tight it hurt. His cheeks burned with shame to even have thought it. What was wrong with him? 
	Instantly, he had thought of Katie at home, waiting for him. He imagined her calling and calling, growing increasingly agitated. He thought of how Katie would take the news. 
	He thought back to a year ago, when they had spent all that time at the hospital. Katie was terrified of hospitals, but she went with him every time, holding his hand. He had told her, the first time, that she didn’t have to be there. She could wait in the car, or at home. But she had gripped his hand even tighter. She frowned at him, and told him, as if he should already know, that she never wanted to be anywhere in the world without him, that she wanted to be right there for him. Always. 
	Katie would care so much. 
	Traffic lulled to a complete stop once again. He looked out his driver’s side window. The rain had slowed down, too, and the window was spattered with a galaxy of water droplets of various sizes, tiny comets traveling at their own varying speeds. His eyes focused on a single drop. It was gliding down the window, faster, faster, then more slowly, until finally splaying out into a puddle at the bottom.  
	Randall thought of himself. He thought of how when he was a little boy, he would lay his head against the shoulder strap of his seatbelt like a hammock. How he would pass the time in the car watching raindrop after raindrop race down the glass, making silent bets in his head over which one would win. How his mother would reach back without looking when she braked and touch him gently on the knee.  
	God, he missed his mother.  
	He noticed the person behind him signal cautiously before moving over into a space between cars to join the exit lane beside them. His eyes followed them momentarily in the rearview as it came to a stop in its place in the line, his own car picking up speed in pace with the traffic around him as it cleared past the crowded exit. His attention served as a silent thank you, and he hoped it would be enough. Enough that next time, God forbid there was a next time, an angel would be there again. 
	The exit signs began to soar past the windshield as the cars picked up speed. The rest of the drive was easy; he would cruise in this lane for the next eight miles until it automatically turned into an exit only lane for the exact one that he needed to get off. 
	Randall thought of what Katie had been like when she was a little girl. He wondered if she had sat in the backseat quietly cheering on raindrop races. He thought of a picture he had seen once of Katie at a dance recital. Her hair was tied up so tightly it made her ears stick out and her eyebrows raise like she was startled, but it was still Katie. Her cheeks still dimpled on just one side, but it was a deeper dimple than the one he was used to.  
	He remembered he was surprised the day he found it in Katie’s mother’s house. He remembered noticing then, how weird it was. He hadn’t noticed before, but there weren’t any real pictures of Katie in the house. Of anyone really. There were a few perfectly staged and costumed professional beach portraits of her family, and there was a picture of her parents dressed in formal wear getting ready to receive an award for her dad, but nothing real. Katie’s mother’s house reminded him of a museum, full of boring, forgotten things that you weren’t allowed to touch. 
	The picture of Katie rested in a macaroni frame, decorated with a hodge podge of glitter, plastic jewels, and beads. She had clearly made it herself, then tucked it away in this little corner, where it wouldn’t draw too much attention. Randall thought of his own childhood home, how impossible it would be to count the number of pictures of him that had decorated the walls, how every tabletop and shelf was cluttered with a memory.  
	After his mom had gotten sick, the TJ Maxx baubles they had picked out on rainy days after school became treasures. He missed her so much.  
	He wondered how Katie felt, missing a mother she never had.  
	He pulled up to the stoplight at the top of the exit ramp. The light changed to green almost instantly, and he cruised through the next few lights. He pulled into the entrance to their neighborhood. As he made the turn, the paper bag on the floorboard tipped over slightly, and the nuts rattled inside their plastic container like a little maraca. 
	He hated himself, then, for the tone he had taken earlier with Katie. For the way he had groaned when she asked him to pick them up. He hoped she didn’t stop asking. 
	He pulled up into their driveway. He could see her through the window, busy in the kitchen, but she hadn’t noticed him yet. The golden hour sun was shining through the window, giving her an ethereal quality in its light. She turned and he could see her belly, so round and full of life. 
	She was going to be an amazing mother. That baby was so lucky. 
	That baby was going to know nothing but love. Every cloud that darkened their skies, Katie would give a silver lining. Katie would see that baby in nothing but the best light, the way she saw everyone, the way she saw him.  
	He hated the world, then, for not loving her that way back. 
	He looked over at the chocolate covered nuts beside him. He hadn’t wanted to pick them up, hadn't wanted to participate in the dinner at all, but now he felt resolute that his place was there.  
	Katie knew her mother had been feeling lonely since her dad had moved out with his secretary. Katie wasn’t the kind of person who could let someone she loved hurt. Even if they were blind to her own pain. To what loving them cost her. 
	If Katie was the Golden Princess raised to save her village, he would be her Saint George. She could put her heart on the line because he wouldn’t let her become a sacrifice. When Katie’s mother would inevitably call the chicken dry, or the mashed potatoes too buttery, he would be there to chime in to say that he liked them that way, that actually, he preferred his potatoes drowning in puddles of butter.  
	He turned off his car, grabbed his belongings from the seat beside him, and paused a moment before opening the door.  
	Yes, he would be there for her. And at the end of the night, when those stupid chocolate covered nuts sat abandoned on the counter, because even though Katie would present them with such pride her mother wouldn’t even bother taking them home, he would be there to quietly tuck them in the cupboard. And when Katie insisted that it wasn’t a big deal, he would know that it was. He would see her blinks and know her eyes were stinging; he would hear a tiny choke in her voice and know there was a lump in the back of her throat. And he would be there, to pull her into his arms, to rest his chin on the top of her head, to tell her it was alright. Like always. 
","August 05, 2023 02:11","[[{'Abby Palazzo': 'The flashbacks to childhood were so effective!! Beautifully written, and the message is so heartfelt and sincere I wanted to cry. Please write more :-)', 'time': '21:06 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Alan Harrell': ""Lovely story, Audrey. I loved how the chocolate covered nuts kept coming back. Keep up the great work. And thanks for your kind words about my story.\nCan't wait to read your next piece."", 'time': '01:17 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mariah Deitrick': 'I cried a little I love love love this one!!', 'time': '14:07 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Audrey McKenna': 'Thank you so much!!', 'time': '15:58 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Audrey McKenna': 'Thank you so much!!', 'time': '15:58 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,t62cid,Seven Seconds,Alan Harrell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t62cid/,/short-story/t62cid/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Suspense']",10 likes,"
Seven SecondsAfter six weeks on the run, a journey that spanned over three thousand miles, Josh parked his stolen Hummer at the entrance to Dead Man’s Rock. This was it. The last stop.Beside him, Fiona gazed out the window, her finger twirled around a stray curl. She looked more frightened now than when she played her piano for an audience of thousands, more frightened than the night she shot her stepdad. Screw the suicide pact. Josh had to save her.He threaded his fingers into her hand. “Helluva way to spend your eighteenth birthday. You sure about this?”Fiona gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. Are we high enough?”Josh head-bobbed to a viewing platform, some fifty yards away. “See that bench over there? Dad used to bring me here on weekends. We’d toss rocks over the ledge and count how long it took to hit the trees.”“How long?”“Six seconds. Seven, if you threw really hard.”Fiona lowered her window. The October breeze wafted in, lifting a lock of her recently dyed hair off her shoulders. “Think I hear them.”Josh studied the rearview mirror. The single-lane road behind them was flanked by rhododendrons and hollies. Dappled light sprinkled through their branches, splashing onto the blacktop in patches of reds and yellows. The scene would’ve made a great calendar cover or a billboard for South Carolina state parks…until the first police cruiser appeared.The lead car stopped twenty yards away, blocking their exit. The officer flung open his door and crouched, gun raised. “Get out with your hands in the air.”Fiona’s eyes flicked to the ignition. “Should we go?”“Nah. In a minute.” Josh removed his Glock from the glove compartment and fired two rounds out of the open sunroof. A crow squawked and winged away.Fiona yanked on his arm. “What the hell are you doing? They’ll shoot back, you know?”“Not with you in here. Your safety is the most important thing. Besides, they’ve got the whole world watching.”Channel Seven’s traffic chopper crisscrossed the sky. The pilot must be having a blast chasing bad guys instead of five o’clock snarls on I-85.Fiona scissored her arms to her chest. “This is so not fair.” She was eighteen, valedictorian of Westmont High School and winner of last year’s Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, but when she whined, she sounded like a child.“What’s not fair?”“The whole thing. You’re gonna go down as one of the worst villains in history. I’m talking Adolf Hitler bad.”Fiona was exaggerating, but not much. Josh’s photo was in every post office from New York to L.A. He’d even headlined last week’s episode of America’s Most Wanted. “If the shoe fits, wear it,” he said.She slapped his shoulder. “Would you shut up? I’m the murderer. Not you.”“Doesn’t matter. The gun was registered to me. The police have a guy with a bullet in his brain and a witness who saw a twenty-two-year-old fleeing the scene with a minor.”“But you didn’t do it. If you just tell the truth, maybe they’ll—”“The truth? Should I mention you’re pregnant while I’m telling the truth?”Fiona’s blue eyes bulged. “What?”“I’m not an idiot. I heard you puking in the bathroom this morning.”“I’m stressed. Get over it.”“Have you been stressed every morning this week?” When Fiona didn’t respond, he added, “Are you late?”“Can we not fight right now?”“I’ll take that as a yes.”Fiona slumped into her seat. “It’s not gonna matter after this, anyway.”A megaphone crackled behind them. “Mr. Freed, this is Agent Fredrick Stone, FBI. You need to call my cell.” Agent Stone recited his phone number. “No one needs to get hurt. We can work this out.”Fiona looked over her shoulder. “What’s he trying to do?”“Negotiate. As far as he knows, this is a hostage situation.”“What’ll happen if you don’t call?”“He’ll wait.”“Doubt he’s gonna be very patient. Not after that stunt you pulled in Gatlinburg.”A smile tugged at Josh’s lips. Posing two wax dummies in their hotel room had been a stroke of genius. “My guess is they’ll try to force us out of the car and separate us.”“How long do you think we have?”Josh checked the mirror again. Officers were scurrying around Agent Stone, a SWAT truck idling behind them. “A few minutes, maybe.”Fiona pulled her knees to her chest. “Always thought I’d die in a hospital. Like in movies where an old woman is surrounded by her kids and grandkids—everybody’s crying—and her soul drifts up to heaven. Sounds nice, you know?”“Do you believe in God?”She shrugged. “I dunno. Used to think the whole idea was stupid. Kinda like Santa Clause for adults. But look at that sky.” She leaned on the dashboard, her face pinked by the setting sun. “You know how long it took Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel? Four years! And that was just a ceiling. This is, like, the whole world. No way something as insanely beautiful as this could just happen.” She settled back in her seat. “What about you?”Josh lifted her hand to his lips. “I believe in God every time I see your face.”Fiona squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t cried as long as Josh had known her. Even that son-of-a-bitch stepfather of hers hadn’t brought her to tears. Only now, at the end….Agent Stone’s megaphoned voice broke the silence. “My patience is running thin, Mr. Freed. You have one minute.”“One minute.” The words limped out of Fiona’s mouth. “What should we do?”The vague outline of a plan began to take shape in Josh’s mind. “Kiss me,” he said.“Are you serious?”“Sure. Why not?”Fiona crawled into Josh’s lap. Her body felt weightless as she pressed her lips against his.Josh pulled away. “I want to play something for you.”He’d given a great deal of thought to his exit music. (Six weeks in a car gave a man plenty of time to think.) Frank Sinatra’s “I Did it My Way” or Van Halen’s “Jump” would be fitting, but he didn’t want to check out with a musical middle finger. Instead, he’d chosen a song that reminded him of Fiona.Before they’d met, before he’d even known her name, Josh would lower his bedroom window, turn off the lights, and fall asleep to the sound of his neighbor’s piano. One of the songs Fiona used to play was Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” Josh didn’t realize then that the piano was her only refuge from her alcoholic stepfather. All he knew was that her music expressed something true, something real, something that couldn’t be contained by words.Josh inserted a CD he’d picked up at Walmart—Debussy’s Greatest Hits—and pressed play. The piece started slowly. Delicately. Like an angel testing its wings. As the music crescendoed, Josh rolled down his window and cranked the volume.“Are you taunting them?” Fiona asked.“Maybe.” Josh didn’t mind serenading Agent Stone with some piano music. If the man was like most cops, he could use a little culture in his life. But Agent Stone wasn’t the person Josh needed to distract. He leaned into Fiona’s body, his lips caressing hers, while his fingers pulled the door handle.Josh squeezed her one last time. “Forgive me.”“Forgive you for what?”Without answering, Josh pushed Fiona off his lap and slung her out of the car. She landed onto the pavement, screaming “NO!” as Josh sped away. The speedometer read fifty mph by the time Josh reached the viewing platform. The Hummer barreled through his old rock-tossing bench, ripped through the railing, and catapulted over the edge.For one weightless second, Josh glided through the air. The view was glorious. Rolling hills stretched into a cloudless horizon, tree tops tinged scarlet by the sun’s dying light. As Josh floated over Dead Man’s Rock, he turned for one last look of Fiona.She was on the platform, while a man—presumably Agent Stone—fought to restrain her. If someone hadn’t been there, Fiona would’ve followed Josh’s car off the cliff. Maybe now she could go to college with her friends, play piano all over the world, find a good husband, have kids, and die in that hospital bed like she’d always dreamed. Who knows, her oldest child, the life growing inside her, might hold her hand and whisper, “I love you, Mama,” as her soul lifted into the sky.Josh smiled at the thought, then closed his eyes and counted to seven.
","August 05, 2023 02:14","[[{'Audrey McKenna': ""I really enjoyed reading your story! It was exciting and well written. I love how you gave the characters an emotional back story with just a few words, and the way that you connected the ending to the dialogue in the beginning about Josh's childhood memories was really beautiful."", 'time': '21:59 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Alan Harrell': 'Thanks, Audrey! So glad you liked it!', 'time': '01:30 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Alan Harrell': 'Thanks, Audrey! So glad you liked it!', 'time': '01:30 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ukvcbm,Robin,Jasmine A Taber,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ukvcbm/,/short-story/ukvcbm/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Happy']",10 likes,"
The sun reflects on the windshield, causing temporary blindness and illuminating the filth that has accumulated since I last went through the car wash. I squint like I need a rather thick pair of glasses and pull down the sun visor. The road begins to repaint itself in front of my eyes.We are on a long stretch of highway, single lane, that is completely surrounded by trees on either side. Other than the occasional gap between them that's filled with nothing but tall grass. The road is mostly shaded, but open spaces between the trees and branches allow the sun to occasionally peak through and wash the landscape canvas blank.“I love being surrounded by nature. I’m glad we did this.” My wife says from the passenger seat.She is slightly reclined, looking up from a half finished novel. She’s wearing a forward facing baseball cap repping our son's t-ball team, The Braves, and a shirt to match. We always say we’ll do things like this more often, but we rarely seem to get around to it. I reach over and intertwine her hand to mine.“Me too.” I say. “Daddy, are we there yet?” Chris says from the backseat.I look into the rearview mirror and lock eyes with him for a moment.“We’re getting close, son.” I say to him and he thankfully turns his focus back out the window.We’re not close, but I'm afraid if I don’t tell him that then he might start to get fussy.I turn on the radio at a low volume and my wife goes on reading. My son's head starts to bob up and down and his eyelids open and shut like he might fall asleep. Please, please fall asleep. Out of my peripheral vision I notice a lot of movement out the window to either side of me. Birds have begun to manifest in the trees. They swoop out from between the branches and perch in the direction of the road, as if to form a crowd to watch a parade where we are currently the only float.“Honey, do you see this?” I say, with wonder.She looks up from her book.“Why are there so many? I’ve never seen this many at once.”She digs in her purse lying on the floorboard and pulls out her digital Nikon camera.“I don’t know, it's peculiar.” I say.Even as I speed by at 55 plus, there seems to be a never ending supply of them continuing to form along the highway greenery. She rolls her window down and attempts to take a photo.“Can you stop for a minute?” She asks.There’s been no one else on this highway for over an hour, so I have no trouble doing so. I pull over onto the shoulder and put on my hazard lights, just in case. I look over my shoulder at Chris who has fallen asleep.All of the trees as far out as we can see begin to fill with birds of many colors, like they’re filling in a Paint-by-Numbers kit.At a standstill, I start to feel overwhelmed with the amount of them.Then, a small bird flies through the window and onto my dashboard. It sits there, perched. I feel like it’s staring at me directly, although I know that’s all in my head. My wife slowly veers her focus to the small bird and snaps a few shots.“It’s so beautiful.” She says. Almost in a whisper.The bird has a dark, fiery face. A color that sits somewhere on the color spectrum between orange and red, but closer to orange. Its eyes and beak resemble the face of the world's tiniest snowman. Its head is flat and its back and bottom are a light gray. It suddenly takes off, flies into the backseat and perches on the headrest right above my son. He’s not yet tall enough to reach it. My wife snaps another picture.I turn back toward the front to turn the radio off and out of the windshield I notice that about 20 or so birds of the same size and similar coloring are perched on our hood. I lightly brush my wife's shoulder.“Jess? Look.”She turns around and is too stunned to even hold the camera up. I glance in the rearview mirror and lock eyes with the bird who is still towering above my son.“I wonder what kind they are.” I say, mostly thinking out loud.My wife reaches back into her purse and pulls out her cellphone. I’m surprised she’s able to get service, but she Googles it.“Some of the ones in the trees are different, but both the ones on the front of the car and the one in the car is called a robin.” She says. Robin. Suddenly, my son starts to toss and turn a little and then opens his eyes. The robin is now on the seat opposite of my son, like a hitchhiker prepared to join us on our journey.“A bird?!” My son says enthusiastically.He reaches out to try to pet it.“Christopher, don’t.” My wife says to him, sternly.Chris turns, ready to argue with his mother, but becomes distracted before he has a chance. He looks through the front windshield at all of the birds on board. He begins asking questions.“Why are there so many??”“What do they eat?”“Do they sing songs? Some birds sing songs.”“Why are we stopped?”My wife and I take turns giving either a brief answer or a brief “I don’t know, Chris.” We sit there, making attempts to answer my sons questions and absorbing the beauty and company of the birds for what seems like an hour, although it was probably only 5 minutes or so.I try my best not to get irritated at my sons curiosity. I understand it in that moment more than any other time because I, too, am filled with curiosity. I have so many questions and if there was someone with me that I thought could answer my questions, i'd rattle them off too.Finally, I say we should get going.“We don’t want to get to Fortridge too late. We’ll still have to set up the tent.” I say.My wife turns back around to face our visitor.“What about the bird?” She asks.We both look back at it again. It hasn’t tried to escape once, nor have any of the rest of them tried to get in. It hasn't even made a sound. Almost like it intended to come in here with us for a reason and it wasn't going to leave until it's purpose was fulfilled.I reach out my hand to it.My son starts to protest because he was told not to do the same, but my wife interjects.I lay my palm flat against the nylon seat and it hesitates for a second, but then steps one foot and then the other into my palm. I roll my own window down and hold it out in the fresh air. It stands there for a moment, the wind softly ruffling its feathers. I was a little worried it might fly back inside the car, but it didn't.It began to flutter and then it took off. The rest of the birds on the windshield followed, like rehearsed choreography. They dove back into the trees, escaping back into the tunnels of light, including most of the birds perched on the branches. They vacate the area as if the parade has ended and they can all go home.I look over at my wife and we both smile at each other. She nods and places her camera back in her bag. I turn my hazards off and get back on the highway. My son begins rattling off more questions.”Can we get a bird??”“Can we go swimming in the lake?”“Is there gonna be bears at the park?!?”My wife and I take turns answering again.“Are we there yet, dad?” He asks.“Almost.” I say. “We’re getting really close.”Once my son falls asleep again and the car is quiet, my wife grabs her book back off the floor and opens it to continue reading. This lasts a few moments before she shuts it and places it in her lap.“Honey?” She asks. “I know I'm only a few months, but regardless of the sex, I really want to name them Robin.” She says.Robin. I smile, lock my fingers with hers once again and drive on.
","August 02, 2023 19:09","[[{'SJ Shoemaker': 'Such a sweet moment in time. I really enjoyed reading through!', 'time': '13:30 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jasmine A Taber': 'Thank you, SJ. I’m glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '19:17 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jasmine A Taber': 'Thank you, SJ. I’m glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '19:17 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,sankl0,Everything is Relative,Jeremy Stevens,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sankl0/,/short-story/sankl0/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],10 likes,"
		Days old cat asparagus pee, dank gas-station bathroom, fast-food grease on hot asphalt by the steaming dumpster with the grey, sun soaked and blistering meat and congealing dairy desserts: all the smells of “indigent” precede him as he climbs into my car, more like falls into, and I reflexively lean towards my door to avoid contact. He wears a heavy burlap-sack puffer coat despite the intense morning heat. The seams of the plastic grocery-store bags set by his heavy, lace-less shoes are splitting open from cast-asides, shirts and socks it seems. His heavy straw beard stores crumbs and particles of leaf and his pipe-cleaner hair angles out from beneath an Indiana Jones-like Fedora. 
		Everything about him is heavy on this dog day of summer.
		“Awful kind of you, young man.” Situating himself, he sniffles. 					
		“Now there’s a most recognizable odor.” I grunt at the irony. I assume he is referring to the new car smell, the Meguilar’s Ultimate Interior Detailer I use regularly to maintain that showcase sheen of the high-end luxury foreign import. I feel I need to forgive him his off-putting “odor” descriptor, though “fragrance,” or “scent” is far more preferable for this resplendent display of risen. 
		“Just bought her last week,” I glorify. I gently caress her dash. “I was able to finagle seven thousand off the MSRP. I think the dealer was a bit daunted by my knowledge of the inner workings, the added cost of activating the air-conditioned seats, for example, and my credit score is remarkable, so it all worked out. Where you headed today?”
           “KuhNEEtuh. How far down 64 are you going?” 
           “Bethel/Greenville, not sure of the exit number.”
           He takes off his hat and sets it on his knee. “I’ll just tell you when to let me off, young man. I sure appreciate the lift.” He fastens the seatbelt, then pauses. It is a pensive pause, like there’s something going on. He scratches his facial bramble, and vacuum-cleaner debris flutters down, like dandruff. Definitely gonna have to have Carmine give her another detail between hearings tomorrow. “What have you got in there?” He points to the nearly full Big Gulp in the cup holder, beaded and dripping. He gives a dry swallow. I think I hear his throat click.
           “Coke, shaved ice. Can’t do cubes; not enough saturation.” I pick it up and take a long pull through the straw. Good stuff. “I’ve lived in Eastern North Carolina for ten years now, having risen to senior associate at…Schweikart and Cokley?”—I pause, looking for raised eyebrows or any other sign of impressed recognition at the illustrious name; my ride-along just stares at me, and it is now that I notice his startling azure eyes, like sea glass in a Mediterranean tidal pool—""though…though, I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never heard of KuhNEEtuh. You certain that’s the name?”
           “Should. I grew up there, after all.”
           “Huh. KuhNEEtuh, you say? Sure you’ve got the name right?”
           Those eyes are mesmerizing.
           “Well, alrighty then. Buckle up.”
           He pulls the strap to show he’s buckled. 
			I suck another three swallows from my Big Gulp and the rear fishtails as I gun it down the shoulder. Vehicle quickly approaching on your left, the console emphasizes, and we are nearly sideswiped by an eighteen-wheeler as I try to merge, its angry airhorn blowing past and rocking the car in its wake, and I blow my own horn right back and give that mother trucker the much-deserved finger, and I quickly check the blind-side video on my console to make a successful merge onto I-60 doing seventy on the gravelly shoulder. 
-----
           “Do me a favor and hit that button?”
           “For the ejector seat?”
            “Funny, but no. That, my friend…what’s your name, anyhow?”
            “Name’s Maxim.”
           “Maxim? Like that men’s sex magazine?”
           “Noooo.” His inflection rises with the word, like the stay-at-home confronting her guilty husband. “I was born in 1962, Maxim is mid-nineties, and you’re riding the middle.” 
			I check the blind-spot cam on my resplendent console to shift to the left lane even though there is no one in the right to pass. “Just…do me a favor and hit that button there?” Maxim presses the button and his vent begins to oscillate and I press the button on the steering wheel that activates the vacuum on his side of the car. Vacuum, activated says the console.
			“You’re kidding,” he chuckles. 
			“Sorry,” I say, “but she’s new and—”
			“—was the Shop Vac one of those ‘added costs’ you spoke of?”
			“Yeah.” I suck on the straw until I hear the slurp of emptiness. “I pretty much got all the add-ons.” I shake the cup, and slurp again. Maxim licks around his cracked lips, and looks out the window. “Sends any unwanted debris out the poop shoot. I’ve turned up the ventilation in the seat, though, to make up for the differential.” Maxim sits sentry-still and gently taps his finger on the armrest to a water torture beat, his azure eyes fixed on destination rather than journey. “Don’t know how much coolness you’ll be able to feel through your I CAN NOT BELIEVE THIS.”
			Maxim looks into his side mirror as remnants of natural living float toward the oscillating vent. “Looks like you’re being pulled, young man.”
 
-----
           From the 105-degree heat shimmering off the asphalt, the blues and whites look like a waving flag, and the man approaching the car looks rubbery. I press the button on the steering wheel, activating the glove box; it opens with a smooth, robotic glide. Accessories compartment, open. Maxim’s tapping continues and, unfazed, he continues his stare, making no move to assist with the formalities. “Maxim, think you might,” but I’m interrupted by the officer’s knuckle-knocking. I press the steering wheel button, and the glass slides to the side like the window in a confessional. Window, open. 
           “Fancy car.”
           “Thank you. I just bought her—”
           “—you know why I’m pulling you today?”
           “Ummm…I was…maybe I shifted lanes without…?”
           The officer leans forward a bit. “Sir, is that the odor of alcohol I detect?” Noses really do wrinkle, it’s not just a saying, and at those words my legs become increasingly jellied.
           “Officer, it’s early, not even ele—”
           “Yes, Cody, it is.” Maxim is still staring at the same nothing, his finger now paused at mid-tap. “Been hitting it a bit hard again, as of late.”
           Officer Cody crouches a bit lower and squints into the cabin’s dim, strobing interior. “Do I know you, sir?”
           “Only bounced you on my leg oncet twice when you was a youngin’, Cody Pucket.”
           Cody squints. “Holy Christ. Mr. Hartwell? I thought you was—” 
           “—jess headin’ home, Cody, to bury Momma. This young feller’s kind enough to give me a lift. The news hit me pretty hard, Cody, an’ I’m ‘fraid I rekindled my friendship with John Barleycorn.”
           “You still in KuhNEEtuh, Mr. Hartwell?” Cody Pucket was speaking with incredulous astonishment, as if witnessing the Second Coming.
           “Momma was, Cody. Daddy went Home seven years ago.”
           “Yes, I know. Awful sorry, Mr. Hartwell. Funeral’s tomorrow at Barrow, if I’m not mistaken?”
           “Be ‘bliged if you could make it. You and Emma Jean.”
           “It’s on our calendar, Mr. Hartwell. Strange circumstances, but it’s awful nice to see you ‘gin. Be good to catch up tomorrow.” And with that, Officer Cody Pucket, having seemingly forgotten why he pulled me, taps the window frame, thanks me for giving his friend a lift, and melts into the past.
           I take off the lid from the Big Gulp and tilt it back, tapping the bottom and slurping. The cylindrical form of shaved ice slides into my upper lip and watery bourbon-Coke drips down my chin and onto my silk Tommy Bahama camp shirt. The console speaks: Foreign substance detected on driver seat. The oscillation continues; the air appears to be purifying Maxim’s side. Despite the heaviness of everything he owns in the world and the weeks of caked-earth build-up and the bird’s nest hair, it is I who am sweating in the silent arcade of my sixty-five-degree luxury import.
           “’Good ‘til the last drop’.” An old Maxwell House coffee commercial.” Maxim is speaking to the trees. “Doesn’t leave you fortified, though, does it? Only wanting more? Maybe a bit more…anxiously?” He is now facing me, and part of me wants, right then, what is behind those eyes. 
           “How’d you know?”
           “About?”
           “You just filled a role with that cop as though you’d been rehearsing it. How’d you know?”
           “Son,” he sighs, and brushes his Fedora, and brushes his pants leg, and leans back, and sighs again, “I’d been rehearsing my whole damn life for a part I never got.”
-----
           Maxim is driving now. He told me once we got to KuhNEEtuh I could “rest up” in his old bedroom, if I wanted, but I “sure as heck fire wasn’t driving anywhere soon,” so I “might as well.”
           “How far along are you?”
           “What, am I pregnant now?”
           He chuckles. “I like that sense of humor. No, son, in your drinking. You gonna need a hospital?”
           “Just decided to partake heading back from a weekend with the boys, Maxim. Nothing really to analyze.” I feel myself starting to get tense and there’s a definite edge to my voice despite his own soothing, innocent, completely non-patronizing question; I am the one with the one-hundred-grand car now feeling at odds with the universe while this guy, this derelict, despite his filth and his stink, doesn’t appear to have a single concern other than getting home safely. “How in the world are you so peaceful?”
           He chuckles again. “You mean, despite my filth and my stink?”
           “I don’t get it, man.”
           “Son, what’s your name? I feel I should know it by now.”
           “Name’s Wilson Pringle. Yes, I am an heir.”
           “An heir?”
           “Pringle? The potato chip?”
           And again, he chuckles. “Wilson, ‘Pringle’ is to potato chip as Epcot is to ‘international’ and you, my friend, just nailed why I am so peaceful.”
           I give an audible, most childish moan. “Maxim, pleeeeeze don’t feed me that ‘you had to lose it all to get it all’ Joel Osteen ‘git right with the Lawd’ mindfu…mind mess.” I don’t think Maxim approves of profanity, so I check myself.
			“No, Wilson. No. I’ll keep it simple for you. I was a slave to liquor for thirty-five years. Fifteen years ago, I put it down; or rather, it was put down for me. Today, I am free.” Maxim puts on the blinker, and ignoring the video display that costs an additional $125 a month he “old schools” it: he looks over his shoulder. People still do this? “You, Wilson, are also a slave, and alcohol might, might, also be part of your eventual hell.” 
			I lean my head back. The car is spinning. Should’ve had breakfast. “Your hick accent, though. You actually seem pretty smart.”
			“That ‘hick accent’ is what helped you avoid the judicial system, Wilson, and what helped me get home sooner. And yes, I am smart. For…a hick.” He chuckles again. 
			He puts on the right blinker again, and slows a bit. I look up: Exit 491, Conetoe. 
			“Cone-toe?
 No, dipshit, the console illuminatedly speaks. KuhNEEtuh.
","August 02, 2023 23:25","[[{'Michał Przywara': 'Very nice. The narrator has a strong, opinionated voice, and it\'s a good contrast to Maxim. It\'s even quite nasty, quite vicious, but - he *did* pick Maxim up in the first place, so perhaps it doesn\'t entirely reflect the narrator. Or maybe, it reinforces a theme here, about what\'s superficial and what\'s underneath. \n\nSomething Maxim says leans into that too: ""I’d been rehearsing my whole damn life for a part I never got."" There’s a sense of disappointment there, of wasted effort. Maybe of chasing the way things ""should"" be, instead of appre...', 'time': '20:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jeremy Stevens': 'Such a detailed response, Michal. I appreciate the time you took to compose it.', 'time': '21:23 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Jeremy Stevens': 'Additional note: I wanted to explain why Wilson picked up Maxim, but I also wanted to leave that vague for discussion purposes:\na) Drunks enjoy a sense of adventure; perhaps this was that.\nb) Wilson may have wanted someone ""evidently beneath him"" to admire what he had ""become.""', 'time': '21:27 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michał Przywara': 'Yeah, a bit of vague is good - lets the reader play along. I think you got that attitude across, at least in b). He definitely came across with a ""hey look at my rich guy stuff"" feeling. That sense of not being able to enjoy his things for what they are, but rather only when he can show them off to those without.', 'time': '01:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jeremy Stevens': 'Such a detailed response, Michal. I appreciate the time you took to compose it.', 'time': '21:23 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jeremy Stevens': 'Additional note: I wanted to explain why Wilson picked up Maxim, but I also wanted to leave that vague for discussion purposes:\na) Drunks enjoy a sense of adventure; perhaps this was that.\nb) Wilson may have wanted someone ""evidently beneath him"" to admire what he had ""become.""', 'time': '21:27 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michał Przywara': 'Yeah, a bit of vague is good - lets the reader play along. I think you got that attitude across, at least in b). He definitely came across with a ""hey look at my rich guy stuff"" feeling. That sense of not being able to enjoy his things for what they are, but rather only when he can show them off to those without.', 'time': '01:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Yeah, a bit of vague is good - lets the reader play along. I think you got that attitude across, at least in b). He definitely came across with a ""hey look at my rich guy stuff"" feeling. That sense of not being able to enjoy his things for what they are, but rather only when he can show them off to those without.', 'time': '01:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Emilie Ocean': ""Thank you for this brilliant story, Jeremy. I thoroughly enjoyed Everything is Relative. You have a unique writing style that's easy to follow. Thank you! :)"", 'time': '15:24 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jeremy Stevens': 'Hey Emilie! Thanks so much for the kind words.', 'time': '17:39 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jeremy Stevens': 'Hey Emilie! Thanks so much for the kind words.', 'time': '17:39 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,vwpekn,The Journey ,Jason Hruska,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vwpekn/,/short-story/vwpekn/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Inspirational', 'Adventure']",10 likes,"
The compact SUV is loaded down full of their bags with more than they need. Sawyer puts the car in reverse, looking at Vita. ""You ready?"" he asks.
 
 Vita takes a deep breath, assessing the situation. ""Do we have everything?"" Her eyes are full of panic as she fumbles through her purse.
 
 ""You're always too worried about everything. Just enjoy the journey,"" Sawyer exclaims.
 
 They back out of the driveway, headed off to the west coast to escape a non-eventful summer in the Midwest. As they pull out of the neighborhood, a little voice erupts from the back seat. ""Are we there yet?"" Junior's four-year-old mouth yells out as he kicks the back of the passenger seat.
 
 Vita quickly turns around, pointing her finger while scorning him. ""You are not going to do this the whole trip! Play with your tablet and be quiet!""
 
 The highway out of town sets a beautiful scenery as the blue skies are painted with puffy, white clouds. The bright, yellow sun blazes through the windshield of the car, warming up their skin. Sawyer turns the air conditioning to full blast as the cool air raises goosebumps across Vita's forearm, causing her to get upset. ""Are you trying to make it an icebox in here? Turn it down,"" she yells.
 
 Sawyer shakes his head, letting out a sigh of frustration. ""Dang, will you just take it easy!""
 
 Up the highway, he notices a restaurant that was featured on a television show. Excited, he blurts out, ""Hey, look, it's...""
 
 As he tries to finish speaking, Junior flails his arms in the backseat, yelling over and over, ""Are we there yet?""
 
 Vita's face turns beet red as she spins around in the front seat. ""Shut your mouth now, or we will turn this car around and there will be no vacation!""
 
 Sawyer surrenders and gives up trying to grab lunch from their favorite television destination. Vita is far too focused on being upset with unruly Junior that she doesn't bother to take notice of anything outside the vehicle. The frustration of everyone in the car causes a quiet drive. Hours pass, and he gets tired of driving, so they pull over to let her drive.
 
 At the edge of eye's view, huge mountains emerge on the horizon as the sun slowly starts to tuck down and nestle behind the Rocky Mountain range. As Vita takes off driving, Sawyer buries his face deep in his phone, researching things to add to the itinerary of the trip. ""Hey babe! I was just looking at maps and we can take this detour route to get a scenic view of the Grand Canyon in the morning! We have enough time to do it and reach our destination with time to spare.""
 
 Vita shakes her head in anger. ""We are not diverting from the primary plan. I'm not taking any chances, and I'm driving. Also, Junior is being a handful, and I'm starting to get really frustrated with you and him.""
 
 Sawyer's emotions hit a boiling point. ""Are you serious?! You didn't want to stop at the restaurant, you don't want to explore the mountains, and you probably aren't going to want to stop and enjoy the cosmos tonight either.""
 
 Vita loudly agrees, ""You're right! I'm not stopping for anything! We have to get there as quick as we can! Go to sleep, so I can wake you up when it's your turn to drive. We are on the clock, driving straight through!""
 
 She mashes the gas pedal, accelerating the car to get to the finish line quicker. Through the mountains, the car races down the two-lane highway. The moonlight peeks out, giving a soft white glow against the tall mountains cascading around them. The night sky looks like a Van Gogh painting as there is no light pollution from the city to drown it out. Sawyer and Junior are fast asleep to notice the natural beauty around them, and Vita is too focused on driving to soak it all in.
 
 The high beams of the car shine in the oncoming darkness. Suddenly, a deer jumps out onto the road, causing Vita to slam on the brakes and swerve! The brakes lock up, veering onto the shoulder as rocks and dust spray everywhere.
 
 Sawyer's eyes pop wide open as he grips his seat, while Junior wakes up screaming and crying! ""This is why we should have stopped. You could have killed us! Get out of the driver's seat. I'm driving the rest of the way,"" he screams!
 
 Vita gets out of the driver's seat, slamming the car door. She walks around and slouches into the passenger seat, crossing her arms while Sawyer climbs over the center console into the driver's seat. The rest of the trip is eerily quiet as everyone is consumed by their own emotions.
 
 Arriving at the destination, everything changes as their faces light up like fireworks. ""Swiishhh!"" Waves of aqua-blue water leave a frothy appeal as it comes crashing onto the white sandy beaches! The beach is bustling with life as they park the car in excitement.
 
 Junior runs straight for the ocean, with Vita trailing behind, yelling, ""Slow down!"" 
 
 Sawyer unpacks the towels and refreshments to enjoy the remaining day. The sun is already starting to drop down beyond the vast blue ocean as time passes by rather quickly.
 
 ""Can we do something else now? I'm bored!"" Junior blurts out as he runs up to Sawyer and Vita, laying on the beach towels trying to soak up that last bit of sunshine.
 
 Sawyer puts his hand up to block the sun out of his eyes. ""Sure! I'm tired already and just want to go lay down.""
 
 Vita seconds that motion, ""Me too. I'm exhausted. Let's go get a hotel room and figure out something new to do tomorrow!""
 
 Often, our attention is so focused on the stress of small things that don't even matter, it takes us away from being in the moment with our loved ones. We miss out on truly spending time with those who matter the most. Often, we are blind to seeing the natural beauty life has to offer, rushing ourselves to some destination and forgetting to make memories along the way. Even as children, we rush things and are raised to always have to be here or there. So much time is spent worrying too much about the future or dwelling on the past that we never get to live in the present. It's a gift – seize every moment. Most of the time, our rushed determination to reach our destination leaves us unprepared when we get there, only to find out it's not even what it is cracked up to be. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip so we don't miss out on the little things in life that matter the most.
","August 03, 2023 23:49","[[{'Todd Johnson': 'Thanks for sharing this story, Jason. I think you captured the trials of Sawyer and Vita (and Junior, of course) very effectively, and I thought it was inspired how you focused on the travel while collapsing time when they actually reach the shore - very cleverly done. I would recommend a bit more description during the journey to drive the point of the tale home a little harder, and perhaps end it in scene (I think your story is strong enough to conclude with the characters interacting), but overall a great read, and a message we can all ge...', 'time': '21:54 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,dfugq2,Play Nice,Isla Stark,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dfugq2/,/short-story/dfugq2/,Dramatic,0,['Drama'],9 likes,"
The black snake of road meanders ahead through the expanse of forest, as far as the eye can see. Dense trees hurtle past, blurring and melding together, creating the illusion that the car is standing still and the trees are rushing past. Greg drives in silence with only the sound of the road as his companion. His eyes occasionally abandon the windscreen to peer intently into passing lay-bys, the car slowing as his eyes rake the enclosure until the trees once again guard the occupants from view. The young women, girls really, loiter in the dusty car parks, clutching their underdressed bodies against the Bavarian autumn chill. They defy Greg by not looking up as he passes and are only roused into action when a lorry slows and pulls off into the track to stop alongside them. Greg passes three more lay-bys, slowing at each but never stopping. Next time, he tells himself. The trees eat up the miles as a road sign flashes past. 
 
Munich, 142 Kilometres. 
 
Greg finally pulls off the autobahn into a service station. Two girls glance up as he passes but do not return his gaze. The rest do not even notice him. Greg feels the heat building in his cheeks as he drives a lap of the car park. Sweating, he heads for the exit when he spots a young girl sitting on the kerb a few feet away. She is slouched ungracefully in baggy jeans and an oversized jacket, her blonde unwashed hair scraped back into a ponytail. A piece of rough cardboard propped on her shins begs, “Munich?”. Greg glances around and wipes his mouth before pulling up alongside her. “Hi. Errrrr…I’m headed to Munich, can I give you a lift?”
She looks up at him, one thin arm raised to guard her eyes against the midday sun. 
“W-w-what’s your name?” Greg stammers, after she doesn’t respond.
The girl looks Greg over, taking in his thinning hair and sweat-stained polo shirt. Her face is unreadable. “What are you going to Munich for?” she asks.
“J-J-Just work,” he replies, shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.
“What work do you do?”
“I’m in sales, there’s an event there tomorrow.”
She is silent again. Her eyes roam over Greg and the car, flicking to the empty road behind, expectantly.
“So, look, I don’t normally do this, I just saw you sitting there. I’m not an axe murderer or anything, you d-d-don’t have to come with me, that’s fine.”
She climbs to her feet swiftly and swings her bag onto her back, striding purposefully out of view. Greg watches his knuckles whiten involuntarily as he grips the steering wheel.
“Lea,” her voice startles him from the open passenger window. “My name is Lea.” She opens the passenger door and slides in. 
 
Back on the road, Greg turns on the radio to cut the silence that fills the space between them. Lea’s slender frame is tucked in close to the passenger side door, her backpack forming a barrier on the seat beside her. Greg tries to glance sideways to catch a glimpse of her face, wondering how young she is. He feels sweat dripping down his sides as she catches his eyes on her.
“So w-w-what’s w-waiting for you in Munich?”
“Just visiting a friend,” Lea replies, curtly.
“A girl or a boy…friend?”
Lea turns to look at him. Greg stiffens. He feels butterflies in his stomach and wets his lips. Lea returns her gaze to the road ahead, his question unanswered.
“Not very chatty are you?” Greg presses, bolder now. “I only want to know if you’ve got some boyfriend waiting to knock my lights out when I drop you off. Boyfriends don’t tend to like me very much.” He grins.
Lea reaches over and flicks through the radio stations, turning up the volume as the news reader finishes a story and euro pop fills the car.
“What’s the event about then?” Lea asks over the music.
“What event?” Greg frowns, eyes still on the road.
“You said you were going to Munich for a work event?”
“Oh that! Yeah, yeah it’s errr… a conference on sales for the European market. I sell cars.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, the radio moving on to the weather forecast. Looks like rain today. 
“How did a nice girl like you end up hitchhiking way out here? Do your parents know where you are?” 
Before Lea has a chance to answer, they both jump at the sudden blaring of a horn from close behind. Greg jerks the wheel to rejoin the inside lane, the car swerving. His hands grip the wheel tightly and his face hardens as he lets off a loud ream of expletives in the lorry’s direction. As Lea looks down to fasten her seatbelt something in the centre console catches her eye. A photograph of Greg has slid out from beneath his wallet, she recognises the close-cropped unstyled haircut and drab glasses. The photo is attached to a staff ID badge, “Deutsche Post” emblazoned across the top. Lea’s breath catches as she notices the name printed beneath the photo. Sam Matlock. 
 
Munich, 84 Kilometres.
 
“So where are you from? I can tell from your accent you’re not from around here?” Lea asks.
“London originally, but I moved to Hamburg for work a few years ago.”
“Ach, Sie müssen jetzt gelernt haben, Deutsch zu sprechen?”
Greg stiffened. “W-w-what was that? Sorry it’s so loud in here I didn’t catch that.” Greg turns off the radio.
“Oh, never mind.”
Greg turns to look at her, the heat rising to his face and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Are you taking the piss? W-w-what was that you just said to me?” Lea recoils as she feels spittle hit her skin, his voice raised now.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out in German, I just said it must be nice to see new places!” Lea counters.
Greg looks at her pointedly. “I’ve gone out of my w-w-way to be nice to you, the least you can do is repay me with a little conversation. W-w-why don’t you tell me about your boyfriend to make it up to me” Greg spat.
Lea kept her gaze straight ahead, but could feel his eyes pressing into the side of her face. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m just going to stay with a friend from school.”
“Yeah right. You girls are all the same, happy to smile and bat your eyelashes when you want something, but then slam the door in my face when I’m j-j-just being a nice guy and trying to get to know you.”
Lea looks over at Greg, her face ashen. “Why are you slowing down? This isn’t the turn-off for Munich.” She notices the shrill edge to her voice but fails to hide it. She unfastens her seatbelt silently.
The car continues to slow and Greg turns off into a lay-by. This one is deserted, and shielded from view of the main road by a low bank. The car comes to a standstill, skidding slightly.
“What are you doing?”
Greg unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face her in the front seat. ‘Now, that’s better isn’t it, this is our chance to get to know each other. D-d-don’t you want to have a nice drive together?”
Greg’s smile turns Lea’s stomach as his hand reaches out towards her. Before his fingers can close around her thigh she thrusts her seat back as far as it will go, knocking his hand away. In one swift motion she kicks out with both legs, knocking Greg backwards against the driver’s door. By the time he realises what has happened, she is out of the car and running back towards the road and disappearing behind the bank. Stunned by the impact, Greg stumbles from the car and chases after her, shouting “LEA!” as he brushes the blood from his nose. As he limps on to the hard shoulder he stops and stares. She is nowhere to be seen. 
 
Greg hears the roar of an engine erupt behind him as Lea streaks past, and he watches his car lurch back onto the autobahn. Without a backward glance Lea disappears into the traffic. 
 
As she drives, Lea reaches into the centre console and pulls out the staff ID badge. Sam Matlock. As she tugs the badge free something else clatters onto the console. She picks up the heavy dark object, its oblong surface is smooth and it fits neatly into the palm of her hand. Turning it she feels a button depress under her fingers and the blade springs into life. Lea drops the knife back into the centre console and turns up the radio.
 
Munich, 51 Kilometres.
 
 
","August 04, 2023 13:27","[[{'Mark Ritchie': 'Hi Isla\n\nReedsy sent me your story as part of the Critique Circle so here are my thoughts on your piece:\n\nWhat I liked:  Your description of the setting and the characters really pulled me into the piece as a reader.  Your use of language in those first two paragraphs is masterful. I can clearly picture the whole scene in my mind.  Fantastic job there.  I feel the tension building as they are driving.  Really clever use of the truck to cause him to swerve and expose the picture. The ending is super satisfying as well, leaving our attacker st...', 'time': '14:09 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Isla Stark': 'Thanks Mark! I really struggled with this one, being set in a confined space and trying to maintain some kind of plot was a challenge! Appreciate you taking the time to give feedback.', 'time': '16:36 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Isla Stark': 'Thanks Mark! I really struggled with this one, being set in a confined space and trying to maintain some kind of plot was a challenge! Appreciate you taking the time to give feedback.', 'time': '16:36 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,6z2cqv,Driving Hildy to School,Robert Ford,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6z2cqv/,/short-story/6z2cqv/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Coming of Age', 'Kids']",9 likes,"
	Driving Hildy to School
By Bob Ford
 
          “You better hurry or you’ll be late for school,” I called as I got into the car. Though I would never admit it to anyone, Hildy is my favorite daughter. The older one, Julie, seemed to take an instant dislike to me the moment she emerged from the womb. Hildy, on the other hand, as a child had been my little furry caterpillar who would climb into my lap before bedtime and ask me to read her a story. Then, at ten, she had spun herself into a reclusive cocoon and refused to talk to me or her mother. 
	  Now at twelve, the butterfly was slowly emerging from the cocoon. She had begun to show signs of approaching womanhood and I suspected that it would be only a matter of time, a brief time, before she would fly off to test her wings. I normally treasured my time alone with her. Times like now, driving her to school, gave me a chance to plumb the depths of her emerging personality. She got in the car, closed the door and announced, “We better hurry or I’ll be late for school,”  
	 I resisted the temptation to say something clever and diverting about her echo of my exact words. As I pulled out of the driveway and headed for the Bountiful Country Day School, a self-imposed silence gripped my daughter. She was totally mute but for an occasional, unexplained soulful sigh. It was several minutes before I decided to risk a potentially unwelcome opening to a conversation. I began with an all too obvious question. “So, what are you learning in school, these days?” Dumb question. Guaranteed to immediately irritate a twelve-year-old. It drew the answer I should have expected.
	  “Nothing.”
	  “Nothing? Well, then,” I said in a jovial tone, I guess we won’t need to pay next semester's tuition. Maybe I should get you a job as a waitress at a diner.”
	  Her response to my attempt at humor made it clear that she was not in a mood to be trifled with. “Oh, Dad, like, get real.”
	  Like get real? What did that mean? I asked myself. What did I have to do to get real?  The aborted conversation had fallen into a pothole and it was only after several minutes of silence that Hildy decided to pull it out.
	  “Can I ask you a question, Dad?”
	  “Of course.”
	  “Are you and Mom still … like … doin’ it?”
   What kind of question was that from my twelve-year-old daughter? “What do you mean?” I hoped I had either misinterpreted her question or, at the very least, my return question would give me time to muster a proper parental response.  I slowed down to turn a corner.
	  “You know, are you still … doin’ it?”
	  I did my best to compose myself and avoid an oncoming truck. “If I understand what you mean by ‘doin’ it,’ and I think I do, I have to wonder why you’re asking?”
	  “Cause I want to know if you and Mom plan to have any more kids? We’re studying reproduction in biology and learning about, you know, doin’ it.” 
	  Good grief. Where had the years gone? My little caterpillar was old enough to learn about doin’ it. I’d read how today’s teenagers were becoming sexually active at a younger age and, for a moment, I was tempted to ask if she was doin’ it. Fortunately, I had the good sense to quell the urge. Hildy hadn’t even been on a date and as far as I could tell, she had not developed an active interest in boys. 
	  “No,” I said at last, “your mom and I are happy with the two we have. There won’t be any more.”   
	  “So, you’re not, like doin’ it anymore?”
	  The truth was we weren’t doin’ it anymore, but not because we were trying to avoid procreation and not because I enjoyed the celibate life. In short, it wasn’t my decision as to when or where or even if we would be doin’ it ...ever. Given my wife’s recent declaration that she wished to liberate herself from our conjugal responsivities now that she had inherited her mother’s considerable estate. Incidental, i.e., recreational, sex seemed out of the question. But this was not the time or place to discuss the deterioration of my relationship with Cosima. 
	As I came to a stop and waited for a stoplight, I decided to change the subject. “Are you learning about reproduction in biology?”
	  “No, in biology we’re learning about global warming, and how we’re ruining the environment by using up all the resources and leaving the rest of the world with just about nothing.”
	  “That’s what you’re learning in biology?”
	  “Yep.”
	  I knew that school was too extreme. But Cosima wouldn’t listen. She and I are going to have to talk about this. I decided to probe another subject. “I saw you reading your history book the other day. Have you studied the Civil War yet?”
	  “Sorta …”
	  “Sorta?”
	  “Our teacher said that the only thing we had to know was that the war freed the slaves, but not really because they are still oppressed and that we should give them reparations.” She looked up at me quizzically, “What are reparations?”
	  I wanted to answer, “A sham” and leave it at that. But I decided I had to come up with some type of definition. “Well, it’s sort of a penalty paid to a group of people who haven’t been personally injured by another group of people who had nothing to do with the injury the first group never had.”
	  Hildy looked up at me blankly and said, “Oh.”
	  I decided to continue with my history probe. “What have they taught you about the Revolution?”
	  “The sixty’s revolution?”
	  “The American Revolution.” And then with a tinge of frustration I added, “The one we celebrate on the Fourth of July.”
	  “A little, but our teacher said it was mostly about some dead white guys who aren’t all that important to our lives in the 21st century.”
	  “George Washington isn’t important anymore?” I was nakedly incredulously.
	  “Yeah, because … I guess, like … well, Dad, he’s, like, dead.”
	  “True.” It was hard to argue with absolute fact. For a moment, I began to consider how best to begin the process of deprogramming my daughter who was obviously being brainwashed by a cult of radical Bolsheviks passing themselves off as teachers at the Bountiful School. “Just out of curiosity, what does your teacher look like?” 
	  “Mr. Sporze?”
	  “Is that his name, ‘Sporze?’”
	  She nodded. “He’s really cool looking.”
	  “Cool looking?”
	  “Yeah, he has real long, black hair and a long braid down the middle of his back which he sometimes, like, wears wrapped around his head. He’s got a beard, which is kinda scudzie.”
	  “Scudzie?”
	  “It’s really blotchy lookin' … like … remember when Puddy Tat had that skin disease?”
	  “You mean when her fur came out in handfuls?”
	  “Yeah. It sorta looks like that.”
   A Bolshevik with a black, blotchy beard, I said mostly to myself. “What an appealing looking fellow he must be.”
	  “Mr. Sporze dresses like an Indian. I mean, like, he doesn’t wear a feather or anything, but he sorta looks like an Indian. But what’s really cool is that he lives in the back of a great big truck.”
	  And I’m paying for this? I asked myself as I made a left-hand turn in directly in front of an immediately indignant driver of a Mini Cooper. Pondering Hildy’s Wokish overtones it occurred to me how much of an absentee father I’d been, at least since Hildy had left the Livonia public elementary school for private day school. Overwhelmed with my job responsibilities at the car company I had, for all practical purposes, abrogated most of my parental responsibilities and left them to Cosima. Did she condone this nihilist education or was she as ignorant as I was about what was going on in Hildy’s classes?
	  As we drove past the dry cleaners that had lost my suit, I decided to take another tact. “What’s your favorite class?”
	  “English.”
	  “Oh, are you reading stories?”
	  “No, we’re writing.”
	  “Writing? Like what?”
	  “Poetry. Wanna hear one of my poems?”
	  “Absolutely. I’d love to.”
	  Hildy opened her schoolbag and sorted through her papers. “Here it is. You ready?”
	   “Read on, Wordsworth.”
	  Hildy laid the poem in her lap and took a moment to compose herself for the poem’s premier presentation.
	            “I see a world of death and pain.
             There is no sun, there is no rain.
             The earth has turned to dust and sand,
             It’s all the fault of wasteful man.
             Down with all of nature’s foes,
             Smash ’em, burn ’em, anything goes.”
	I was speechless and did my best not to veer into a line of parked cars while appearing to be giving her work thoughtful consideration. “Well, that’s quite a statement,” I said, leaving out the adjective “subversive.” I found myself asking: Who is this person next to me? Am I driving a stranger to school? Or had my daughter suddenly become a budding activist?
	  “What did you think of the poem?”
	  “Well … ahhh … everything certainly rhymes.”
	  “Stop!” She shouted suddenly.
	  I jumped on the brakes. “What? Did I hit something?”
	  “No, I just want to get out here.”
	  “But we’re still two blocks from your school.”
	  “I know,” she said, opening the door.
	  “Why don’t I drive you up to the front?”
	  She hesitated, and then clearly hiding the truth said, “I’d just rather walk, Dad, like, if it’s okay with you?”
	  Did she have a rendezvous with a boy? Someone she planned to walk with the last two blocks? Was she going to meet some friends? Or maybe look for the Bolshevik with the beard? Like I needed to know. “Sure, it’s okay with me, but I don’t understand why you don’t want me to drop you off in front of the school.”
	  “Well, Dad, like, this is our clean air week and … ahhh, my teachers know you work for a car company … and since gas cars pollute … well, it would be, like, embarrassing if they were to see me with you.” Before she closed the door, she leaned her head in, blew me a kiss off her fingers and said, “Love ya, Dad.”
	  With that, she ran off with a bunch of prospective radicals about to have their mushy brains filled with progressive garbage. I waited until I saw her enter the school, then turned my V8 pollution producer, this scourge of the environment, this villain of global warming, toward downtown and my office. For the first time, I felt totally disenfranchised from my family. Given my wife’s monthly financial infusion from her mother’s estate and Julie’s apparent continued rejection of paternal affection, not only did they no longer need me to provide the basic necessities, they didn’t need me for much of anything. And Hildy, my favorite, had now fully emerged from her cocoon to become a butterfly flying solo.
 
                                                                                         Words 1849
 
 
","July 30, 2023 18:28","[[{'David Sweet': 'Very true slice of life . . . Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '11:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,tcbtba,Gender Reveal,Alex Flores,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tcbtba/,/short-story/tcbtba/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama', 'Latinx']",9 likes,"
      The slam of the car door instantly cuts off the music coming from the backyard. Slumping into the driver seat, Gustavo waits. Feeling the glare of Gloria’s gaze, he knows this routine. No words at first, just the stare.  He stares ahead through the windshield, knowing Gloria won’t say anything until he does.
           Gustavo’s impatience, along with his irritation at Gloria, overtakes him after a few short moments. “Well? What did you want to talk about? Why’d you drag us out here?”
           Her eyes widening at the question, Gloria considers for a moment that it might be best if they left the party. “You really have to ask?” she says as she spins in the passenger seat, buckling the seat belt. “You’re gonna sit there and act like you just didn’t do that?”
           Seeing Gloria buckle her seat belt, Gustavo reaches for his, deciding to leave it alone. “Do what? Everything was fine back there. I don’t know what you’re all mad about.”
           Shutting her eyes and rubbing her temples, the temptation to demand that they leave and head home compels Gloria further. She wonders if this is an act; if Gustavo is genuinely usure of what he just did. “Are you serious? You’re asking what I’m mad about? You just told your mom and sister that I was fired from work last week. No, not just told them, you blurted it out in front of everyone. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
           Feeling himself get angrier, Gustavo returns Gloria’s stare. “You’re mad about that? Because you got fired? That’s no big deal. You were about to quit anyway to start at that county job. Better pay and benefits. Besides, people get fired all the time all over the place. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
           “It would have been fine if that’s all you said. But no, you were all like ‘they just sacked Gloria this week. Up and kicked her out’ like they tossed me out of the building. Did you even hear yourself while you were saying that.”
           Gustavo looks past Gloria and through the passenger window, trying to see what’s happening at the house. “Can you see what’s going on? I can’t see anything. If we miss the reveal, I’m gonna be furious. That’s the whole point of these parties. We can talk about this later, but I’m not about to be the only one in the family who misses this, especially since we’re here at the house only a few feet away.”
           Gustavo begins opening the driver side door when Gloria unbuckles her seat belt, reaches over him, and closes the door. Seeing that he put the keys in the ignition, she turns them, starting the car. “We’ll miss it if we have to. It’s just a gender reveal. You know your brother or someone else will put it up on TikTok or something anyway. You’re not about to just gloss over how you humiliated me in front of your family. I mean, do you even get that? What if I said that to someone while you were right there? How would you feel if I just said ‘Oh, they just tossed Gustavo out of the building yesterday. Had security guard the door from him and everything. But he got a better job, so whatever I say is fine’. Does the whole ‘got a better job’ make it okay to say whatever else?”
           Turning the ignition, Gustavo takes the keys and puts them in his pocket. “Look, I don’t know when they’re doing the reveal. I told you, I’m not missing it. That’s what we came here for. Also, you were having fun before you dragged us out here. When you won Guess the Baby Bump Size then took a shot with grandpa, you can’t tell me you weren’t having fun.”
           “Yeah, until you ruined it! You’re not about to turn this around, Gustavo. What you said, that was hurtful and embarrassing. How many times do I have to say it? Did you see your mom’s face when you said that? You could tell that even she thought that was over the line. Why is this so hard for you to get? I mean, I like your family. You know I do, and they like me too. But I’ll miss this gender reveal if it means finally getting through to you how much you embarrassed me in front of your family.”
           Planting herself into the passenger seat, Gloria reaches again for the seat belt and buckles herself in. Her arms crossed, she glares at Gustavo, waiting. The music from the backyard is faint, but she can still hear it from her seat. Keeping an ear out for any break in the music, Gloria knows that she has some time before the gender reveal is announced, but wonders if it’s enough time.
           Wringing his hands on the steering wheel, Gustavo looks through the windshield and into the blue sky. He takes a deep breath, and then faces Gloria. “Okay, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said it like that. There were tons of better ways to say you lost your job. Or maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all and just let you say it however you wanted when my mom asked how work was going for you. But I get it. And I’m not just saying that either just so we can get back to the party. It wasn’t my place to say it, and I’m really sorry about it. If you want, we can talk about it later, but I don’t want either of us to miss this reveal. I mean, my brother’s first kid, we have to be there for the reveal. Does that sound good, if we get back and talk about this later?”
           Gloria wonders if she can even go back to the party. Not wanting to see Gustavo’s mother after what he said, Gloria knows Gustavo’s mother can’t be avoided. Gloria unbuckles her seat belt. “Okay, we’re going back in and you’re talking to your mom. I’ll leave you to her, but you’re making things right. And you know we’ll be talking about this later.”
           Gloria opens the passenger door. The air brushes a breeze past her; calming after being in the car. Music plays from the backyard, carrying over to her as she waits in her seat, waiting for Gustavo to get out of the car. Over the sounds of the party, Gloria hears someone asking for the music to be turned down.
","August 04, 2023 17:26","[[{'Michael Hellwig': 'The only area of this story I took issue with was the initial paragraph. For some reason I felt the lead in should have been different, But embarrassingly I have no suggestion as to what that means. \nBut I loved the writers flow on this one. Smooth and succinct. Which leads to an easy and enjoyable read. I also give kudos for for the ""relatability"" of the main characters. As from the onset you could connect with them emotionally. Feeling as if you knew people similar to their characters in real life.', 'time': '03:59 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,eyjgr7,Redeemer,Nathaniel Miller,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/eyjgr7/,/short-story/eyjgr7/,Dramatic,0,['Science Fiction'],9 likes,"
“The sun doesn’t rise anymore.” “What? No. It rises.” A brown chip bag and an empty can blow in the wind, pirouetting next to the car. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Keila brushes a strand of her short, purplish-red hair behind her ear. It’s eerie, being driven through an empty city. No other cars are on the five-lane highway. The skyscrapers are jam-packed with people. But nobody goes out on the streets anymore. The altitude and the smoke mean that the city is always covered in a haze. A thick haze, one that sears lungs, stings eyes, reeks of something very much like burnt rubber. Better than burning up on the ground, though. Almost everything down there has burnt, temperatures stay above one hundred twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Barely anyone in the city has been back on the ground since they moved up. Only the Las Altas Pillar Maintenance and Protective Taskforce. Nobody else is allowed. “Do you remember what it looked like?”“What?” Keila’s eyes flicker to Luc.“The sun.” Luc puts his head back, looks through the glass roof. His eyes are tired, his face older than it should be. “Sometimes, I don’t think I can. Even in pictures, it’s different. I miss it.”“You don’t have to romanticize everything.” Keila looks up. The haze is always yellow in the morning.“I don’t,” Luc says. “I don’t do that. What do you mean?” He reaches for her hand; she pulls it away.“You think about things as better than they are.”Three minutes until The Edge, AiNsley’s too-perfect voice says.  “What?” Luc’s brows collide. “But. You talk about Las Altas like it’s good,” he says. “You know it’s not. You have to know it’s not. You’re more of a romantic than me.”“Stop.” Keila rolls her eyes. “It’s not a bad city. They’re not wrong. You have to be grateful you only work down there.” She flinches and points downward. “You wouldn’t want to live there.”The trash flits along outside. A robotic arm with a net springs from a trash can, captures the trash, pulls it in. A trail of smoke floats up to join the hazy mass above.“You are a romantic, more than me,” Luc says. “You’re just misguided.”Keila sighs. He can’t be right. He isn’t.Outside, shuttered businesses along all of State Street. Miranda’s Cloths and Fabrics; Tropical Totes; Poltophagie; Good Scones. Paint peeling: red-and-green, blue, beige, orange. Doors taped into rectangles or boarded up. Closed written in cursive on the front glass, painted over the canopies, or not written at all. “We’re getting a new batch of mortars down at The Pillars,” Luc says.“Mortars? Why?”“They won’t say.” Luc itches his chin. “Defense, I think. It’s just in case. But you can’t know anything for sure anymore. Wish we knew who to trust.”“I trust the government.”“Keila, I know. You’ve told me. I don’t think they’re worthy of it, your trust or mine. Especially after the Civil War.”Right. The Civil War. Some people are so desperate for power. The government made it clear, over and over again, that they did nothing wrong. Crystal clear. Too clear?You’ve arrived at The Edge.There are three cars ahead of Keila and Luc. Suza’s spiky hair—bleached at the roots, reddish-brown at the top—bobs in and out of the checkpoint, her weathered, nose-ringed face chatting away. She has one earbud in; she always has an earbud in. The wall, covered in obscene anti-state graffiti, rises on both sides of the checkpoint. Two tall, skinny, hooded teenagers stand at it, crudely writing with a can of red spray paint. Get us fucking off of here.“Hey, you guys,” Suza says. “How’re you holding up?”Keila, startled, looks up. She forces a polite smile. “Good, thanks.” “Good, hon.” Suza smiles uncomfortably. Darts her eyes around, ducks her head into the car. Her expression shifts; more urgent, pertinent. “I found something I want you to listen to. I was listening to a, uh, a podcast, earlier.”“Okay.”“Well, it’s not exactly, quite,” Suza pauses, rubs her chin, looks around. “Well. This is a nice vehicle. Self-driving? It can fly?”Keila nods. “All the cars can, Suza.”“Back in my day, you had to do actual work,” Suza says, pulling back to lean on the door. “You weren’t just chauffeured around by a computer.”“It’s actually incredible—”“The podcast, Suza.” Keila interrupts Luc. “What about it?”“Right. Yeah. I was saying, it’s, it’s not quite….” Suza rubs her forehead.“What?”“Legal. It’s not legal.” Suza is talking much quicker than normal. “I could be shot. Please don’t tell them.”Keila’s eyes widen. “You want me to listen to it?”“Yes. I, I don’t know. There were things in it that made some sense. I don’t know you super well, I guess. But I feel like, I feel like I can trust you.”“Where’d you get it?” Keila’s tone is intense, her jaw more forceful.“Don’t be mad,” Suza says. “Please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to break the rules, someone just gave me a CD, and I put it in the CD player I have, because they can’t track them, and I thought you’d—”“Give it to me,” Keila says. “Really?” Suza looks up.“Yes. Hurry.” Suza slips a black box into the car. She moves her head out. “Well. I know I don’t have to check you two too well, do I?” She laughs. “You’re Keila Milad, for goodness sake. Flying down to The Pillars? Yes? Anyways. Have a nice flight.”The barricade lowers into the ground. The car passes through. And onto The Runway, a thin stretch of road that juts off into sheer nothing. “Why’d you take it?” Luc asks. “Keila. Why’d you take the disc?”“I want to know what’s on it.”“You could be killed. They would literally kill you. I don’t want that to happen.”“They’d be stupid to kill me.”“What, you think just because you’re their best guard, that they won’t kill you? Do you think they exercise any restraint?”“Luc. They’re reasonable. Stop it.” They are reasonable, aren’t they? Well. Burt Philland and his group weren’t dealt with reasonably, but they were different. Treasonous. They were different. Right?The car moves forward onto the runway. Preparing for takeoff, AiNsley says. Wings and an empannage unfold from the trunk and lock into place. “You’re lucky you have me, you know,” Keila says, shaking her head. “Not everyone can just be dropped off down there.”The car aligns with the runway, accelerates rapidly, takes off. “I know. Sometimes I think about what it’s like to take the jet. There’s something communal about it that I think I could like. But I prefer solitude. Solitude with you.” He grasps Keila’s hand, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it. A reluctant smile cracks across her face.Luc shifts in his seat to look through the back window. “Look at that,” he says. “Look at the city.”Keila turns around. They’re at its level, circling it. “Wow,” she says. “Incredible.”The steel pillars underneath the city stretch down to the ground, but you can’t see the ground from the city, anymore. The haze is too thick. Which gives the illusion that the city is actually floating. It looks like heaven, if the buildings in heaven show signs of wear and all the air in heaven is a thick, mustard yellow.“Do you remember the first time you saw it?” Luc asks.“It changed my life,” Keila says. “I don’t think I can forget it.”The first time she saw the city. The photos couldn’t have prepared her for the glory of reality. As soon as the shuttle had poked above the ground level of the city, Keila gasped. There it stood, towers spiraling, terracing, stretching into and beyond the clear, blue sky. And the sun. You could still see it back then. It glinted off each of the glass shrines to human progress, so brightly that it cast a halo around the entire city. A holy aura that engulfed and enraptured Keila. Las Altas was a paradise. Not perfect, but better than earth. Happier than earth. Heaven, with faults.Since then, Keila has vowed to keep it that way. It’s the worthiest cause she’s ever known. And everything has its highs and lows; who is Keila to question it at its lows? Unconditional love begs more from us. Are its lows worth questioning? Every city has miscarriages of justice. But not every city’s capitol has been blown up by its residents. Five hundred casualties, government employees and protesters. Not every city needs a border wall to keep its people from jumping off the edge.Prepare for landing.Keila grips the handle on the door, looks out. Char. Small fires flicker in the distance. Not everything down here has burned, yet.The underside of the city looms far above, but doesn’t cast shade, except in the center of The Pillars. The car hits the ground, grinds to a halt.Luc leans over, kisses Keila on the cheek. “See you,” he says, then opens the door. A wave of intense heat sweeps through the car. “Close it. Quick,” Keila says. Luc slams it shut, twists his helmet on, walks away over the sand. He’s tall. Six feet, about. There’s always a scruffy, unkempt-looking beard on his face, but it’s always the same length. His neon orange bodysuit—LAPMaPT stitched across it in silver—blends in, almost, with the haze. “AiNsley. Back to The Edge.”Roger that. Preparing for takeoff.And the car flies back up to where it came from. Keila takes out Suza’s box. It’s black cardboard, feels like it’s been handled less-than-gently. White creases streak across the top where it’s been bent. One of the corners has been torn off. Inside, a CD player, a CD in a frosted plastic case, wired earbuds. “Wow,” Keila whispers. “Wired.”She lifts up the CD. On the top, PJ POD 17 is scrawled. Puts it in the CD player.The car lands on the runway back at The Edge.“AiNsley, patrol.” The car turns right onto the road that encircles Las Altas. On her left, the border wall, a pure, sheer, white concrete mass with barbed wire at the top. No graffiti on this side. On her right, a smoky abyss. Keila reaches into the back for her vest. Military-grade, LABG velcroed onto the front and back. She slips it over her head, feels the rough against her skin. Adjusts her posture for comfort. Then, she grabs two cold, heavy black pistols from the case under the backseat. Puts them in the holsters built into the console.“Alright.” Keila sighs. “Let’s see what the big deal is.” She jams an earbud into her ear. Hits play.I’m Pastor Jean, and I’m coming to you from Beachtop. His voice is raspy, and he hisses into the microphone. Thanks to everyone who’s supported me and my family in these trying times. Alright, well, I’m going to jump right into it. Today’s episode is called “Rebellion.” Intense, arrythmic strings play. Intro music.Our government is playing the role of God. This, Las Altas, is like the Tower of Babel. We think we can avoid a catastrophe, just by being in the sky. And anyone who disagrees, anyone who thinks differently, anyone who tries to leave, is shot. There are border guards out there, right now, to make sure we stay on this abomination of a city.Keila looks up. She doesn’t like to think about what she has to do. It’s to protect the people, anyways. They don’t realize what they’re doing. The only way to save them is to kill them, if they break through the wall. It’s been explained to her a million times. You think the LA Civil War was the end? You think the capitol explosion was the end? His voice grows louder, syllables more stressed. Our government is restricting what we can do. They’re taking away our rights. We used to have prayer in our schools, now, we don’t even have schools. Our kids sit on their screens, watching government propaganda, day after day. “It’s educational,” they say. But they won’t educate our kids on the Bible. They know what we want. Our government is desperate to keep the peace. They know we’re here, that we’re ready to overthrow them. They know that this place is an abomination.What's an abomination? Is Las Altas really bad?And what does the Bible say about abominations? It says we have to destroy them. Cut them down. Same here, in this city. Because this city is wrong. It has done more wrong than any other entity, ever. Pastor Jean is yelling, now. His voice is captivating, intoxicating. We are living in a cesspool of pure, uncensored sin. And those in the government, everyone in the government, perpetuates it. This is all their fault. Everyone in the government. And all of us who don’t do anything about it. We have to tear down this city, so we can build it up. We have to rebel. All of us. This is more than the Civil War. This is more than any one of us. This is a cause. A cause worth dying for. We need someone, we need people, to redeem us.Keila looks around, suddenly worried someone will see her. And she knows what her new duty is. ***Luc opens the car door, heat sweeps in, he closes it. “Hi, honey. How was your day?”“Oh, it, it was good.” Keila quickly runs her hand through her hair. “Hey. I wanted to ask, can you, would you take me to the mortars you were talking about?”“Um, what? Why?” Luc laughs. “Are you joking?” His eyes narrow. “Why do you need them?”“I’ve been assigned to a higher post. I can’t say much. Classified, and everything. It’s a big deal.”“You seem nervous.”“Just got out of the talk.”“Okay… I mean, good for you,” Luc says. “That’s actually incredible. I’m so proud of you.” He leans over to kiss Keila. “Wait. Do you know where they are?”“Uhm. Yes, actually.”“Where?” Keila’s heart beats, faster and faster. “AiNsley, take us to Pillar 74,” Luc says. “Pillar 74, is where they are. They’re so impressive. A lot stronger than anything we’ve seen before.”“Oh, wow.” Sweat springs up on Keila’s forehead in little beads. “That’s incredible.”The car takes them to Pillar 74, stops. A black semi truck sits, parked. “This is it,” Luc says. “This is the place.”Heart crescendoing, beating more rapidly. Frantically. “Luc, would you take one out?”“Oh, well, that’s not allowed, I don’t think. They said to keep them in there.”“I’m higher up than them, now. I’m in charge.” Keila speaks with an authority that feels foreign. “I’d help but I don’t have a body suit. Go get it.”“Um. Okay.” Luc gets out, slowly walks over to the truck. Scrambles over the bed. Drags a ramp to the edge, lowers it to the ground. Then, after what feels like an hour, the mortar. Heaves it down, panting and groaning. “Where do you want it?” he asks, loud enough to be heard through the thick car glass. Keila motions for him to point it towards the pillar. “The pillar. The pillar. I’ll bring the car around and you can hook it up.”Luc turns it so the barrel faces the pillar. He walks back, pulls open the door. “Good?”“Is it loaded?” Keila asks. “They want them to be loaded. I’m, uh, I’m not sure why.”“Uh, no. That’s really unsafe, driving around a loaded—”“It’s what they want. Load it, please.” Keila’s voice is sharp, cruel. “Also. How are they fired?”“Um, well, they’re remote, now,” Luc says. “It’s a really cool technology. There’s just a button that you push.”“Okay. Load it and bring the button.”“Are you—are you sure? About all this?”“Luc. I need you to go.” Luc gets out of the car. Climbs into the truck bed, again. Finally, he comes out, gingerly carrying the shell with both arms. A metallic box dangles from his hand.Keila is caked in sweat. She takes off her guard vest. Luc loads the shell in the mortar, then comes back to the car. “Okay, it’s loaded. I really don’t think this is safe. It’s unwise. Are you sure they want you to—”“Do you have the button?”“The remote?”“Yes. That thing.” “Yeah, I have it. Right here.”“Give it to me.”“You’re not licensed to have one, you’re not—”“Give it.” In Keila’s eyes is a righteous insanity, a rabidity. A fire, a purifying fire.“Are you sure? You look unwell. Are you alr—”“Luc, I need you to give me the remote.”Luc hands it over, reluctantly. “This is illegal. More than illegal. We could both be killed.”Keila feels the cold metal in her hands. Turns the box over. Her heartbeat slows, somehow.The red button on the top of the box says “LAUNCH.” Keila stares at it.“Honey, you’re not going to do anything, are you? Keila. Keila?”She stares. She can’t hear Luc. She pushes the button.“No. NO.” Luc starts talking quickly, with insanity. “What are you doing? What are you doing, honey? Sweetie? Keila!”The shell launches out of the mortar, hits Pillar 74 straight on. The pillar creaks, bends. “No,” Luc shouts. “AiNsley, move, get us out, we need to get out—”Pillar 74 snaps in two. A roar thunders through and around the other pillars, loud and terrible.Keila looks up. A ripple goes up the pillar, faster, faster, more and more violent. The dark ceiling cracks.Keila. Keila? AiNsley, GET US OUT!A section of the city breaks off, starts falling. Rapidly approaching. Faster, heavier, quicker. She smiles. “I’ve redeemed them.”
","August 04, 2023 17:27","[[{'Michał Przywara': ""There's some good world building here - it's fairly alien to us, and yet still something we can visualize. The conflict is interesting too. The poor individual, stuck between the twin leviathans of government and church, both demanding the same thing: fight for me, die for me. \n\nKeila starts off very level headed and confident, but her worldview is challenged hard. Or perhaps, she's always had doubts and just pretended them away, until she no longer could. Either way, she cracks, and her shift in character shows this quite well. \n\nIn the end..."", 'time': '20:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Nathaniel Miller': 'Thanks, Michal!\n\nYes, Keila finds herself in a tight spot here. I think, at her core, she\'s just a misguided romantic. In her mind, there always has to be a ""One Right Way;"" she\'s immune to the idea of nuance. So when she discovers a convincing counterargument, and one that lines up with questions she\'s been having, she fully commits to it - no questions asked - and uses her relationship and her resources to reach an ultimately horrific end. \n\nThanks so much for the read and the thoughtful comment!', 'time': '13:01 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Nathaniel Miller': 'Thanks, Michal!\n\nYes, Keila finds herself in a tight spot here. I think, at her core, she\'s just a misguided romantic. In her mind, there always has to be a ""One Right Way;"" she\'s immune to the idea of nuance. So when she discovers a convincing counterargument, and one that lines up with questions she\'s been having, she fully commits to it - no questions asked - and uses her relationship and her resources to reach an ultimately horrific end. \n\nThanks so much for the read and the thoughtful comment!', 'time': '13:01 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Niiiiice work. I know the word count restricted you in being able to spend more time on keilas change of mind( or brainwashing) but its still a damn fine read.\nGreat job', 'time': '17:31 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Nathaniel Miller': ""Wow, thanks so much! Yes, I would've liked to spend more time on the attitude shift but the word count was pretty darn restrictive. Anyways. Really appreciate the kind words, and thanks for the read :)"", 'time': '12:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nathaniel Miller': ""Wow, thanks so much! Yes, I would've liked to spend more time on the attitude shift but the word count was pretty darn restrictive. Anyways. Really appreciate the kind words, and thanks for the read :)"", 'time': '12:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michael Hellwig': ""Excellent command of the English language. This is out of the writer's control. But each story should have a lead in section highlighting what the story is about. Because, we all have such different writing styles. And lean towards genres of interest. That I found myself at times asking internal questions. As fiction is not my thing. And I was trying to get a grasp on the environment. Instead of enjoying the impressive talents of this author. \nAlso, it was probably due to the word count constraints. But I would have liked to read a more desc..."", 'time': '03:39 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ucach4,The Division,Sarah Cox,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ucach4/,/short-story/ucach4/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Contemporary']",9 likes,"
 
As I soar above the New York metropolitan area, the sprawling cityscape unfolds. I feel a flutter in my stomach. I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation for what lies ahead as I embark on this road trip to the South. Alone. Although there’s no better way to break in my “new” 3000 Celestial Cruiser. It was a tough journey to not only track down this collector’s item, as it's now over 60 years old, but it was even harder to find one that works. Most of the beginning models of flying cars have an extensive list of mechanical problems. Which makes my new 3000 Celestial cruiser even more rare.
 The car's exterior is colored in a matte dark grey which gives it an air of sophistication and mystery. The sleek and aerodynamic design, reminiscent of an older model of a bullet, hints at its incredible speed and agility. As you step inside you are transported to a realm where the boundaries between driving and flying are seamlessly merged. The interior has had its upgrades including a cockpit equipped with an array of digital touch screens and holographic displays. As well as a panoramic canopy allowing optimal view of the gleaming blue sky. However, it’s what lies below that makes the ride more thrilling.
Among the glistening high-tech skyscrapers and floating bridges lies central park. Doesn’t look like a park anymore though. Sad through the advancement of technology in the north we couldn’t protect or preserve our beautiful nature. What was once grounds to an abundance of greenery, towering trees, and meandering pathways with inviting benches now lies dirt and gravel. Almost desert-looking. The city abandoned its duty to protect mother nature and now it blends into the concrete jungle that encircles it.
Much of the north is in a similar state as central park. Which is all being viewed as I travel along the main air path to the south in search of what lies over the wall. After the separation of the north and south in 2098 the United States took a drastic turn for the worse. From what I’ve read throughout my school courses it seems that the north and the south have always been divided. Dating all the way back to 1861 when the American Civil War began. Which appears to have started over a political debate with the abolishment of slavery and the expansion westward. The conflict was settled when the Confederate army surrendered but the battle between politics and opinions continued to drive a wedge between the two regions. Continuing through the 2000s to the late 2000s there was a constant battle between them. Listening to my grandmother’s firsthand accounts of the separation from the United States was like delving into a living history book. As a child, I would sit in awe, hanging on to her every word as she revealed the tales of the great South and the North divergence. Where one region wanted to expand forward with technology, and another feared change.
It’s easy to reflect on our elaborate history as I fly above our beautiful country. Although, I’ve always wondered. What is it like on the other side of the wall? The Republican army won’t allow flying cars due to the fossil fuels and gases being detrimental to the crops. The north hasn’t had to worry about that for decades as they’re no crops or vegetation to kill. I kick my gear from cruise to supersonic as I leave the New York Metropolitan area. As I check the holographic compass is facing south, I continue to switch the autopilot feature on to travel along the central airway. This allows me to marvel at the states that pass quickly below. I don’t see the other Northern states very often as it doesn’t make much sense to leave my home where I’m in my comfort zone. The allure of staying within the confines of what I know has always been strong. This is pushing the boundary in a teasing good way.
As I continue my journey, I am grateful for the opportunities this road trip has presented. I can’t help but think, will there be Unity in the near future? When put into thought or maybe even said out loud it doesn’t seem such an outlandish idea. Im sure many others across the nation have asked themselves this same question. Although I’m fairly certain there will always be those amongst us who crave and love the divide. I ponder this thought as I flutter around in the new car. Exploring and taking a new insight into what I can rightfully say I own and fly.
As I arrive at the Mason-Dixon Wall the flutters in my stomach have turned to a pit. The wall stands taller than any other skyscraper I’ve seen and is vastly more extended than my eyes can deceive. Little specs of military men stand across the wall with larger-than-life weapons which I take as my cue to turn off autopilot and land safely before the wall. I turn on the main gear to stall my airspeed. I concentrate on touch down with the main wheels which involves me holding back the elevator pressure and allows for an easier aerodynamic breaking. “We have touch down ladies and gentlemen,” I utter to myself. My body lets out a long sigh of relief but the thoughts of what lies behind the service door creep slowly into my brain. Taking a deep breath, I cross-check the door and allow it to slowly release onto the ground. The air feels different here- cleaner, fresher. The scent of untamed nature surrounds me is a stark contrast to the urban scents of the north. I take a step out and gaze upon the mighty wall. I start to question my judgment. Is this safe? Am I doing the right thing? I then remind myself, I’m here to bridge a divide between the North and the South in my own unique way.
","August 02, 2023 02:38","[[{'Kay Smith': 'Welcome to Reedsy! This was a fun read and I look forward to reading more of your work as time goes on!', 'time': '15:22 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Welcome to Reedsy! Very nice descriptions going on in here and the writing flows well! Hopefully you will post some more stories to build on these foundations!', 'time': '20:56 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Emilie Ocean': ""Sarah, I absolutely adorned reading The Division! And you know what, I had no problem imagining 2098 New York being divided. I felt like your writing could've been a piece of historical fiction. Thanks a million for this story :D"", 'time': '15:04 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sarah Cox': 'Thank you so much Emilie! I am not very confident in my writing and was very timid before entering this competition. This comment made my whole day, thank you again for your supportiveness and kind words. <3', 'time': '18:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sarah Cox': 'Thank you so much Emilie! I am not very confident in my writing and was very timid before entering this competition. This comment made my whole day, thank you again for your supportiveness and kind words. <3', 'time': '18:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,t840ji,The Rainstorm ,Misti Silvers,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t840ji/,/short-story/t840ji/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Thriller', 'Horror']",9 likes,"
    Kevin was on his way to pick up his wife from work. She hated driving when it was storming. It made her nervous to think about it. If she needed to drive through a storm, she would get physically sick. 
As he pulled in front of the building he called her on his car phone to alert her that he had arrived. Not receiving an answer he knew that she was already on the way down. He exited the car to open her door. Waiting in the rain, he contemplated in solace. He had always enjoyed the rain. A figure moving in his direction grabbed his attention. It was his wife. Reaching for the door handle, he paused until the very moment she was upon the car. She gave him a kiss before entering the car. Returning to the driver’s seat, something occurred to him, but he didn’t fully invest in it.
    “Thank you for picking me up.”
    “It’s my pleasure,” smiling at his wife.
     The drive home was forty-five minutes on a clear day, so Kevin anticipated about an hour and a half drive. As the rain became more severe Emily rubbed on her collar and stared out her window with a glazed look in her eyes. Kevin knew that she was nervous. She always spaced out when she got that way. It was as if she left her mind. She couldn’t register what was actually going to happen. He wished she wasn’t like that. It made him worry about her. He frequently checked on her, to the point of being obnoxious even though they hadn’t been traveling very long. 
    As the rain pelted the windshield, a thud caused Kevin to snap back to reality refocusing his attention on the road. Torrential downpours caused him to slow his speed to ten under the speed limit which made it unusually slow for the city. Out of his peripheral vision he noticed his wife began to chew her fingernails. A habit she never managed to break. As they got closer to leaving the city limits, Kevin could feel his wife’s anxiety rise. The slower he drove the more focused on the rain he became. He drove slow enough to notice there was something weird about the rain. 
    “Honey? Do you see that?”
    “It’s pouring.”
    “No, not that.”
    As Emily blankly stared into the storm, he was met with no reaction.
    “There’s something weird about this storm. I just can’t quite figure it out.”
    Focusing slightly more, Emily noticed it too.
    “What is that?”
    Kevin slowed down more trying to figure out whether or not it was safe. Emily straightened to focus better and also noticed something was extremely odd. As the rain pelted the road, she noticed that the drops were bouncing, but also knew that sometimes it had that illusion during a heavy rainfall and dismissed the thought.
    “Frogs. They have to be frogs,” said Kevin. 
    “And we just can’t see them well because it’s pouring?”
    “Has to be. There’s no other explanation.”
“You didn’t notice when you got in the car?” said Emily.
    “Actually...I didn’t.” 
    Both watching in disbelief, Kevin and his wife tried to figure out what was so strange. Leaning closer to the dashboard, Emily tried to focus on the individual raindrops, but was unsuccessful.
Not sure what else to do, he continued to drive cautiously home. The idea of it being frogs was now so far-fetched he embarrassed himself thinking about, but didn’t know what else to believe. All he knew was it wasn’t normal. Tuning in to the sound of the rain on the roof of the car, he noticed it sounded weird as well. 
    “Listen.”
    She, too, turned her attention to the sound and noted that it didn’t sound like a normal rainstorm. Glancing at her husband with concern, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat drawing the attention of her husband. 
“Are you alright?”
“This is creepy, Kevin.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“What’s going on?”
Curiosity began to eat Kevin alive. Being on an isolated road made it easy for Kevin to pull over to the shoulder. He knew there was an advantage to living in a rural community although the drive was wearisome. He tremendously disliked suburbs, because they were so blase. They all look the same to him with very little variance. 
Pulling off onto the side of the road, Kevin put the transmission in park then slid out of the car. Expecting to be pelted with heavy rain, he was taken by surprise when they bounced off of him. Laughing hysterically, he called his wife to join him. Waving to her to coerce her out of the car, she watched him hesitantly. 
Watching the rain bounce off the road, he tried to get a closer look, but had difficulties. Not believing what he was witnessing, he kneeled beside the car and watched as the raindrops bounced out of control like tiny rubber balls. 
    Curious of the texture, he tried to catch one. He had to know what they were made of. As he cupped his hands to cover one, he noticed the street was still dry. Then Kevin turned his attention to the car and noticed the car was still dry as well and for further confirmation, he pressed his hands against his clothes which should have been drenched. When he verified that his clothes were dry as a bone, he laughed more hysterically from the disbelief of it all rushing to the passenger side of the car, startling his wife in the process.
    “Emily. Emily, look.”
    He gestured for her to roll the window down.
    “Emily. It’s not water.”
    “Then what is it?”
    “I have no idea, but look...my shirt is dry.”
    Looking at her husband as if he had lost his mind, she had to check for herself. Getting out of the car, she noticed the rain drops bouncing and what she thought were frogs now made her change her mind. Kneeling to get a closer look, she was appalled to learn that her husband was correct. Unsure of how to proceed they looked at each other trying to understand the situation. Too distraught about the incident, they rushed to get back in the car more than anxious to leave.
    Kevin pressed the accelerator to the floor and drove surprisingly faster than he anticipated. Ready to put the night behind them, he continued home. He knew he shouldn’t be driving very fast, but for the first time he made an exception. Not sure what to say at that moment, they both remained silent for the remainder of the trip home.
 
 
","August 02, 2023 13:25","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'Interesting tale. It felt like it needed a little more resolution. Maybe something that leads to an awareness of some aspect of their life together.\n\nStill, a fun read. Cheers!', 'time': '16:45 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Misti Silvers': ""I'll keep that in mind.  I'm not very good with endings or titles."", 'time': '01:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Misti Silvers': ""I'll keep that in mind.  I'm not very good with endings or titles."", 'time': '01:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,bkhdet,The Driver’s Side,Anthony Bartalini,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bkhdet/,/short-story/bkhdet/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Suspense', 'American']",9 likes,"
The Driver's Side A black SUV speeds through highway 93 over the Zakim bridge and into the tunnel. It zooms around, dodging cars until it comes to an abrupt halt. The driver turns his head around trying to explain his shortened version of how the universe works to his passenger. The man in the backseat looks up from his phone, slowly glances at the traffic in front of him and dips his eyes back to the phone screen until it rings. He answers in disgust. I had not heard his voice other than confirming his name followed by a muttered location. We are in fuckin traffic and I’m gonna miss my fuckin flight because of that fuckin bitch. I gotta go. The man ends the conversation without a sound from the other side. Who is this guy? Who is in my car? I was trying to narrate this scenario as a script per usual during my shift, but was falling short of ideas with his cold silence. Sounds like it might be a long night if this traffic doesn’t start moving. I can sense his frustration seeping through the leather head rest towards me. Is there any possible way to get through these goddamn assholes. He exclaims. My sole response was that I’d try my best. I’ve dealt with guys like this before but none to this caliber. Something was stressing his life and it oozed out of him. I feel these things for others but not for myself. He was due for a spark. I kept calm and realized it’s not about me. When the traffic let up I weaved through cars as if I was the underdog on a mission. I was. I was determined to get this man to his location on time. We pull up to the gate at Logan airport. The man gets out in a hurry. He takes leaping steps towards the door and with my foot eagerly on the gas peddle I catch him running towards the car. Do not move he yells to me. You’ll get paid. So, I sit and wait. How long should I wait? A man like that will not call to tell me he’s able to catch his flight, so I grant him a half hour. It’s my last ride for the night and the girl I’ve been dating is waiting for me to pick her up. Thirty minutes from his exit the car is in drive, but can’t go too far. I move one car length until my back door opens and the man jumps in. I thought I told you to wait, the defeated man mutters. Catching his breath he sat for a few more minutes in bitter silence. I felt his hurried breath as I navigated through the airport chaos. Politely as my voice could muster, back to where I picked you up, sir? He perked up. Are you crazy. You have to drive me to New York City. I’ll pay. I slow down. Sir, to be honest I can’t do that. It's late and I have plans, my girl lives down the street. He cut me off. Go pick her up, tell her not to speak, look at or engage with me, and take her with. I’ll get you a room in the city. Call her and make it quick. So, I did. She didn’t. It was a smooth transaction. She was in the front seat facing forwards, and we were on our way. I was surprised and relieved that we were into hour two of four plus at 11pm heading to NYC, with a disturbed man, who’s getting a room for me and a girl I’ve barely known six months. The silence became real as the highway became more open. I could sense her impatience growing. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her curiosity set in and began asking questions. His responses were delayed, short, and snarky. My focus on the road shifted as her body spun around turning to the man as they lock eyes. They stay silent for a couple of minutes and then laughter bursts out from the both of them. I’m shocked and confused and without hesitation she’s in the backseat hugging the man. My professionalism continues along with an uneasy feeling running through my soul. I hear them giggling like school children as I tune in. To my disappointing surprise, they had been high school sweethearts twenty years prior. They remembered each other perfectly and nostalgia set in. All the while I felt more like just a driver than I ever have. I completely tuned them out focusing on the road and my own thoughts. An hour remained as my excitement for a night in NYC slowly sank behind my tired mind as a third wheel. No one said anything to me the rest of the ride. I drove, and they laughed me right into a night of upcoming depression. We arrived at the man’s destination in record time. He shook my hand and said thank you. She walked him to the door where they exchanged hugs and a small kiss on the lips. I died inside for some moments questioning my entire existence. I stared from the drivers side as the walls of my skull were being pounded on from the anxiety lined blood pumping and circulating throughout my skull. I was in a trance. I went somewhere else until hearing a pleasant sounding voice call out to me. She returned to the car smiling as if nothing had ripped my chest apart. The door opens as she slides into the front seat once again. My foot steps on the break as my hand shifts into drive. As I ease off the pedal I can feel her staring into my soul. She pokes me in the arm and starts laughing. I’m confused. I turn to her asking to explain. He’s gay she screams out before the story. I was his last girlfriend, ever! We had lost touch when he moved to NYC for college. He was in Boston to ask his mother for his grandmothers ring to propose to his boyfriend. She said no, caused him to miss his flight, and he we are. She leans over with a kiss on my cheek. I tried to involve you in the conversation but you did not respond. I figured you were being professional, so I let it be. The mental fatigue was all I could comprehend marked with insecurities and confusion followed by my heart beat slowing and her muffled voice becoming more clear telling me to check my Venmo. I did. I began to swipe through to find the app while containing a dry emotion. My inner monologue repeating all sorts of questions as I saw the tip he left. Am I hallucinating with this number I whispered as she peeked over my shoulder? I sat in awe looking down into my lap which has been plastered to the car seat for hours. I turned to her with a rising smile. Where to? Back to the beginning she whispers as she fades away and a hurried man slides into the backseat of my SUV disturbing my day dream. I perk up. He confirms his name, mutters his location as we drive over the Zakim Bridge into the tunnel towards the awaiting traffic. I turned to him with my shortened version of how the universe works. 
","August 05, 2023 01:39","[[{'Audrey McKenna': ""Overall, I found the story to be exciting and fast-paced, which made so much sense when I got to the end and realized that the time frame in which everything took place was actually just a few minutes. I could tell you had a lot of ideas and I was really intrigued to see how they played out. I do typically prefer a more traditional dialogue structure and I found the lack of quotations a bit hard to follow, however I really liked your title, it's very witty!"", 'time': '22:46 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,v6274i,And You Expected Better?,Paul Tolksdorf,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v6274i/,/short-story/v6274i/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Sad']",9 likes,"
	The highway was unending, just a clogged artery stretching to the horizon.  An endless mass of cars oozed along the route like steel snails.  They trudged toward the nothing in the distance.  Pale hills flanked them on both sides.  
	One car crawled along, slow as the rest.  It had no distinguishing features, save the miserable faces inside it, staring out.  Two middle-aged adults rode the front.  An elderly man, and two teenagers sat in the back.  
	They all wore nametags on their drab clothes:  ‘Reggie’, ‘Rashida', ‘Faye’, ‘Cooper’, ‘Grandpa’. 
	Each person felt the cold outside piercing through them.  One-by-one they shivered and tried to warm themselves.  Reggie blew hot air into his hands.  Rashida rubbed her hands together.  Grandpa stamped his feet.  Cooper clapped energetically.  Faye stroked her arms and legs, trying to generate heat.  
	“Cold.  Didn’t expect it to be so cold here,” Grandpa said.  “Did you expect it to be cold here?”
	“I don’t even know where here is,” Reggie whined.  “So how could I expect it to be anything?”
	“Fair point.  Don’t know why I asked the question,” Grandpa said.  “Just didn’t expect this cold.”
	 “I’m still wondering about my question.  So I’ll ask again.  What is this?  I mean, seriously, what the hell is this?!” Reggie barked.  He gestured out the window at the strange rolling hills.
	“How many times are you going to ask that?” Rashida groaned.  
	“I’ll ask as many times as it takes to get the answer.”
	“You’ve asked it over and over, starting ten hours ago when we began this trip,” she said. 
	“Ten hours ago?  It feels like twenty hours ago.  Or thirty.  Feels like days actually…And what’s the answer?” he asked.
	“The answer is the same now as it was then.  I.  Don’t.  Know,” she intoned.  Rashida checked her hair in the mirror.  
	“Oh, I know you don’t.  But aren’t you wondering?  Aren’t you?  Maybe just a little curious what we’re doing here?”
	“I’m trying not to think about it.”  Rashida pulled her hair up and tied it back.  Reggie sighed.
	“We’re stuck in this damned car, on this dreadful road, in this horrific traffic.  And it’s brutally cold to boot!  What else is there to think about?” he growled. 
	 “Other.  Things.  When I’m in an unpleasant situation, I’ve taught myself not to dwell on it.  I find a safe space.”
	Cooper and Faye listened to the argument from the back seat. Next to them, Grandpa leaned forward to interject.  
	“You know, I’ve read about that,” Grandpa said.  “Folks today don’t want to face reality head-on.  They refuse to acknowledge anything unpleasant.  Whole culture would rather avoid confrontation, avoid conflict.  But conflict finds ‘em.  And then they can’t deal…”  Grandpa’s white whiskers invaded the mirror where Rashida was admiring her own jade eyes and pouty lips.
	“Nobody was talking to you, Grandpa,” Rashida said to the mirror.  “I was explaining to Reggie…”
	“You were explaining nothing helpful,” Reggie snapped.  “And my name is not, Reggie.  It’s Dwight.  I’m Dwight.”
	“Your nametag says, ‘Reggie.’  So ‘Reggie’ is what I’m calling you,” Rashida clarified with a shrug.  Reggie frowned at the nametag on his chest.  He shook his head in disgust.  
	“I know what it freaking says, but that’s not my freaking name!  My name is Dwight!  Can you call me, ‘Dwight’?  Can you do that?  Is it too much to ask?”  He was sweating now.
	“Sure, Reggie…I mean, Dwight.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.  It’s just…your nametag…I don’t know why we have new names here.”
	“It’s to make us forget who we were,” Grandpa suggested.  “Maybe forgetting is helpful here.”
	 “I don’t know,” Rashida continued.  “But if it makes you feel any better, my real name is not Rashida.  It’s Beth.  Am I demanding that you call me, ‘Beth’?  No.”
	“Just go with the flow,” Grandpa said.  “Play it cool, Guys and Gals.  We have a long ride ahead of us.”     
	“Yes we do and what is with this nutzo traffic?” Reggie boomed.  “I mean, I have seen some pretty terrible traffic in my day.  I lived on the damn L.I.E., for goshsakes…never saw anything like this.  This is just hellish, like some kind of sick joke.  This isn’t a road.  It’s a torture device.  Nightmare Route to Nowhere.  And I don’t mean to complain non-stop to you all, but…I can barely keep my eyes open.  Problem is, I can’t close them either.”
	“What is the L.I.E.?” Rashida asked.
	“Long Island Expressway, also known as the Big Lie,” Reggie said. 
	“Just focus on the road, Dad,” Cooper said from the back seat.  “You’re driving this bus.  We want to arrive alive.”
	“I’m not driving.  Do you see a steering wheel up here?  I’m a passenger, same as you.  And I'm not your dad!”
	“I know, Dad.  But it feels weird calling you, ‘Reggie’, especially because that’s not your name…” 
	“Everyone can call me, Grandpa,” Grandpa announced.  “Name’s Norton, but call me Grandpa,” he told Faye.  He flashed her a kindly smile from under his whiskers.  She rolled her eyes. 
	“But you’re not my grandpa.  You’re nothing to me.”  Faye glanced around the interior of the car.  “God, I hate this.  Am I the only one who feels weird driving somewhere with a bunch of strangers?  It’s just awkward.  It’s painfully awkward.  And you’re not my grandpa.”
	“I know I’m not,” Grandpa said gently.  “I only meant that you can call me that, if you want to, if it made you more comfortable.”  
	“It doesn’t,” Faye stated flatly.  She crossed her legs and hugged herself.  Grandpa observed her tense body language.   
	“You’re a lovely young lady.  I would’ve been proud to be your grandpa.  I sure would’ve.  For what it’s worth.”  
	Now Faye twisted her body away from the elderly man and huffed.  
	“Not my grandpa.  My grandpa was handsome and dignified, like a ship captain. You’re a hot mess with hairy ears.”
	Grandpa winced at this.  His shoulders slumped.  He disengaged and stared out the window.  Faye saw that she’d broken him.  This pleased her.  
	“I’m Martin.  I mean, Cooper, but Martin was my real name,” Cooper said to Faye.  “What was your real name?”   
	“Kayla.”
	“I bet you were one of the popular girls in school,” he said staring at the floor. 
	“I was.  How’d you know that?” she asked.
	“I could just tell.”  He managed to look her in the eye for a moment.  She rewarded him with her best smile.  
	“Yeah, I definitely was in the popular group.  We were the most popular, but we weren’t mean to anyone.  We were all in Dance together, and all very cute.  Everyone adored us, so we got whatever we wanted.  My parents adored me and gave me everything.  My life was amazing actually.  I had it all…And I never appreciated it.  Just spent my time moping, whining, complaining…What was I complaining about?  I couldn’t even tell you now.  I was just a fool, an ungrateful little fool.  The truth is, I couldn’t have been happier.”
	“I was happy too,” Cooper said.  “I wasn’t popular, but that didn’t matter.  I had one best friend, one partner in crime.  That was all I needed.  We had more fun than anyone.”  Cooper stared at the pale hills out the window.  “God, I miss him.  I loved him.  I didn’t even realize how lucky I was.  And my mom.  Oh my, she loved me and tried so hard to do right by me.  I never loved her back how she deserved.  Never learned how.  At least I should’ve said it more.  I could’ve said it more.  Gee wiz, why didn’t I say it more?  Did I even say it once?  Did I leave without saying it?  Life felt good.  It felt so good, probably because I had good people in my life.”
	“Good people I don’t know much about,” Reggie said.  “Bad people, well that’s a different story.  Met a lot of those in my life, experts at making misery.  But I did have my favorite places that never let me down:  Pizza Brew Pub, Meadow Twin Cinemas, Nathans’ Arcade, Giants Stadium… those fantastic places, they kept me going, made life worth living.” 
	“We owned ‘Cedar Street Soda Fountain and Candy.’  It took up a whole block and had carved tin ceilings and the longest marble counter you ever did see,” Grandpa said.  “Used to make the best milkshake in Indiana.  The children wasted away their days on those stools.  It was a grand old time.  My word, what a stupendous life.  I lived every minute.  I loved ever minute.”   
	“Yes, we all know now how precious life was, how happy we were, how much we all had…” Rashida said.
	“I hate to ask this, but…what do we have now?” Faye asked, pulling her legs into her chest and rocking herself.
	“We have the road,” Grandpa said.  
	A sense of dread came over them.  Every face in the car wilted to full gloom.
	“Just the road?  That’s it?” Cooper wailed, his voice trembling.  “How come there aren’t any exits on this highway?  Shouldn’t there be exits or off-ramps?  Something?  What about rest stops?  There’s no rest stops.  Whoever heard of a highway with no rest stops?”  
	His mouth quivered, but no more words came out.  He was in shock.  Faye grasped his hand and rubbed it, trying to calm the shaking boy.  He appeared numb, impervious to her efforts.
	“I can’t help him,” Faye piped.  “He doesn’t feel my hand holding his.  I’m right here, Cooper.  Why can’t he feel me?”
	“It doesn’t work that way in this place,” Reggie explained. 
	“So now you’re an expert on this place?” Rashida quipped.  “A few minutes ago you were all questions.”
	“Well, I’ve since concluded this place has no answers.”  
	“I have a question,” Faye said.  “Where’s Heaven?  Where in Hell is Heaven?” 
	“There’s none of that.  No paradise pit stops, no nightmare stair.  No, Sir.  There’s only the road.  Just the road,” Grandpa told them. 
	“So we just drive?  And drive?  For the rest of eternity?  That’s all there is?” Rashida asked.  
	“That’s all there is, Babe,” Reggie chirped.  “This is the hand we’ve been dealt.  Read ‘em and weep.”  
“This is death,” Faye told them.  She curled up in her seat and her eyes turned to stone.     
	“Well, I hate it!” Cooper squawked at the bleak hills out the window.  “You hear me?  I hate it.  I want life…beautiful, wonderful life.  That's what I want.  Not this…this road.  He hugged himself and shivered.  “It's cold.  Never felt such cold...”  
	“It’s Death…and you expected better?” Grandpa said.  
	With that, the car fell silent.  No one spoke for the rest of the trip.   
","August 05, 2023 03:00","[[{'Kaayala Aver': 'The dialogue in this is amazing! You built up to the end so perfectly it actually made me want to go back and read the build up all over again. I love it!', 'time': '01:04 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Paul Tolksdorf': ""Hey Kayla!  You're awesome.  Thank you so much for the positive feedback.  I really appreciated it.  I revised this story a number of times.  I'm so happy to hear that the dialogue and build-up worked as well as you described."", 'time': '14:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Paul Tolksdorf': ""Hey Kayla!  You're awesome.  Thank you so much for the positive feedback.  I really appreciated it.  I revised this story a number of times.  I'm so happy to hear that the dialogue and build-up worked as well as you described."", 'time': '14:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,v1mp6y,Trapped,Ed Friedman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v1mp6y/,/short-story/v1mp6y/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Gay']",9 likes,"
												TRAPPED
 
 
We had barely moved in thirty minutes.
 
I realized, of course, that I would be in the same frustrating circumstance if I did not have a passenger, but there she was. Like me, Barbara was on the board of the Community Center which met once a month. Barbara was a single (divorced) woman about my age, with two grown daughters away at college. She worked as an administrative assistant in a real estate company. 
 
 
I approached these meetings like I do my teeth cleanings, necessary but kind of a drag and a time suck. But being on the board was my attempt to “give something back”. At each meeting, Barbara would ask for a ride home. She would take the train from her job to the meeting, and since I lived near her it wasn’t out of my way. This was no hardship, except for the fact that we had little in common, and in fact, we tended to have opposing viewpoints on many board issues. The 30-minute ride to our neighborhood seemed a lot longer as we would struggle to make conversation. This meeting ran longer (and was more tedious) than usual. A lot of resolutions and voting and discussions, punctuated by a few people on the board so completely in love with the sound of their own voices that they insisted on reiterating points someone else had already made. Mercifully, the meeting came to an end two and a half hours after it had begun. There being no windows in the boardroom, we were all shocked when we got to the front door to see that in the past two-plus hours, a storm had dumped a foot of snow on the ground, and it continued to fall at an alarming rate. Shit, I thought, after a whole day of work and an interminable board meeting, this is just what I need to cap my day.Barbara helped me clean off the car, which was something of a futile gesture given how fast the snow was coming down.
 
I had determined to stay off the side roads which I knew would be more treacherous. When we got on the main roads, however, it appeared that everyone else had the same thought and we were stuck inching along the parkway until we stopped. What made matters worse for me is that extreme weather always turns me into a white-knuckle driver. I decided not to mention that fact to Barbara. No sense in both of us being anxious, not to mention the fact that, well, it’s embarrassing.
 
We quickly ran out of traffic conversation, as we had no other route options, and our plight was evident.
 
“So, that was some meeting,” I volunteered, having no idea what I meant by that.
 
“If you mean it was excruciatingly boring, even by our usual standards, I agree.”
 
“I suppose we should be glad that we didn’t have to put out any fires, like harassment complaints.”
 
“You’re right. I think we should hope for a continuation of boring meetings.”
 
Having nothing more to say about the meeting we went right to the tried and true.
 
“Did not see this storm coming,” I volunteered.
 
“I don’t think anyone did”, Barbara countered. Not being meteorologists, that concluded the obligatory weather discussion portion of our drive. We had barely gone a mile. We were both tired and hungry, and I was holding on to the steering wheel so tightly that I could have been stopping the blood circulating to my wrists.
 
Then, Barbara said something totally unexpected.
 
“You know Mike, you’ve been driving me home for over a year. Our paths have crossed at other meetings and outside of where you work, I know nothing about you. You could be an axe murderer for all I know.”
 
“You’re right, we don’t know anything about each other. But I should tell you that I didn’t qualify for the axe murderer slot on the board. I think Mrs. Hernandez got that.” Mrs. Hernandez, the 85-year-old community activist, is most likely to be nominated for sainthood.
 
“Well now that I’m fairly certain that there isn’t an axe underneath your seat, why don’t you tell me something that people in your professional circles don’t know. And then I’ll do the same. What do you think?”
 
The traffic started moving, though not very quickly.
 
Just like that, I forgot about my weather anxiety as I thought about how much I felt like revealing to someone who was slightly more than a stranger. There was something about being in this barely moving car, with snow coming down hard that made me feel like I was in a protective cocoon. 
 
“Well, I’m currently single after being in a relationship for four years. I thought we’d settle down…”
 
“But…”
 
“But she found someone else.”
 
“Sorry to hear that. You had no idea?”
 
 “Not only didn’t I have an idea, but I was not aware that-how can I say this- that her gender preference was more fluid than I realized.”
 
 “You mean…”
 
“She fell in love with a woman.”
 
“Wow.”
 
“Yeah, didn’t see that coming at all.”
 
“Does it make it worse that it was a woman?”
 
“You know, it really doesn’t. Being dumped is being dumped.” And the floodgates opened. I was no longer thinking about the snow.  I hadn’t told anyone the full story, fearing other people’s judgement not only of me but of Anne, my ex. As hurt as I was, I didn’t want to hear anyone speak harshly of her. I barely had my foot on the gas as we continued to be enveloped in white. I replayed the whole relationship for Barbara-well, the highlights, anyway. I felt somehow safe enough to describe how the relationship evolved and devolved so she could get the whole picture of my sadness. I loved Anne. I just couldn’t get angry. You love who you love. 
 
I took a breath and said, “That was probably more than you bargained for. It was certainly more than I expected to say.”
 
 
“Well, I’m glad you did”, Barbara replied. 
 
“Okay, your turn.”
 
“I’m not sure if what I’ve got to say will make this better or worse for you”.
 
“Hard to see how it could be worse.” As we got further, we picked up a bit of speed, but I was still very cautious as the snow continued to fall. 
 
“I have something I’ve been keeping from everyone. I’ve been very vague about my separation from my husband. I let everyone think he was just disenchanted with our relationship. Some people speculated he had someone else, and I didn’t discourage that line of thinking. The reality is, he caught me in bed with a woman.”
 
I was stunned and could only manage, “Wow, that’s big.”
 
 I think I always knew that I was gay, but I tamped down those feelings and went through the motions, to have, what I thought was a “normal” life. Then I met Sophia, and something just got…I don’t know…activated, and my life and how I saw myself just changed completely. I have to tell you though, it’s very freeing. I’ve come out at work and to my friends.”
 
“Well, that all sounds, good “, I answered.
 
 “Yes, except I haven’t told my daughters. My husband is mortified by the whole thing. He’d rather they think he cheated on me than that their mother is a lesbian. I’m going to tell them next week. That is if I can screw up the courage.”
 
“You sound pretty brave to me.”
 
All of a sudden, we found ourselves in front of Barbara’s apartment building. It seemed like we had gotten there by magic.
 
“Well, we made it.”
 
 “Yeah, this is where I get off. Thanks for listening”
 
“You too, and good luck next week.”
 
 As I drove away, I was sure we’d never have another boring ride home.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","July 28, 2023 22:45","[[{'Martin Harp': ""Took me until about halfway through to realize both people in the car were not women! I wish there was a little bit more at the end because I am not sure what Mike's view-point on Barbara's confession is. His response:\n\n“Well, that all sounds, good “, I answered.\n\nSeems a bit sarcastic and has me thinking he is judging her harshly and I would just like that fleshed out more! Other than that I enjoy it, hopefully they hang out and bond more outside of the meetings!"", 'time': '01:31 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ed Friedman': ""Martin-thanks for your comment. It's important for me to hear. The last thing I want is to be unclear. He wasn't meant to sound sarcastic."", 'time': '03:30 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ed Friedman': ""Martin-thanks for your comment. It's important for me to hear. The last thing I want is to be unclear. He wasn't meant to sound sarcastic."", 'time': '03:30 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Myranda Marie': 'I bet Mike was glad he answered “Does it make it worse that it was a woman?” the way he did. Things could been even more awkward between them. Now, they have more than just their neighborhood in common. Thanks for sharing !', 'time': '23:08 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,rr9w19,June.,Kenneth Wagner,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rr9w19/,/short-story/rr9w19/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Adventure', 'Drama']",9 likes,"
June 4th. 9:00 Am.
 
I stared out the window to watch the countryside blur around me, not focused on anything in particular. Just trying to let my mind drift away. Putting a few shapes in my mind's eyes and occasionally trying to find them in the clouds. Anything I can do to distract myself a little longer.
 
My daddy’s in the other seat with the wheel in hand, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went beyond white. He swaps hands when he needs to let feeling come back. He’s as much a worrier as I am, only I know it was worse for him. He was more of a talker than I was, so I knew his way to distract himself would be to keep a hundred conversations going, all on a thousand different topics.
 
He’d given up when we’d traded seats a few hours back when he saw I was intent on my staring into my own world of nothing. The old man was used to my mental absence. A bad habit I’d never shaken as a kid well into my adult years. It was worse this time, and we both knew it. It just wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t get that gnawing pressure to go, but the words were frozen on my lips each time I tried to break the silence.
 
This was the first time my dad and I had been on an extended road trip since I was a teenager. Dad had driven big rigs through most of my life, and there was no better feeling than climbing into that cabin as we toured the great roads. At least, that was how I had felt.
 
That drifting took hold as I grew up on the highways until I went from a bright-eyed kid to a bored teenager, nose constantly down in his phone, purposely oblivious to the surroundings and goings of the world. I was convinced I’d seen it all.
 
It annoyed the old man something fierce, but we powered through that old tale of teenagers eventually hating their parents when Dad made sure to stop at all the exciting places we could. Mines, ancient battlefields, drive-through zoos, everything and anything that could capture my attention for just a few minutes.
 
I didn’t tell him much, even when he rightfully started to think I’d finally just grown beyond the travel, but I still thought about the day I saw him parallel park that giant rig between two itty bitty cars that it could have eaten as a snack like it was absolutely nothing. I still regaled everyone from time to time with that story.
 
Gradually, when I got into schools for nothing I’d ever use to dead-end jobs that made me wanna go to college just to escape agonizing work that I loathed, my younger brother took over for me as the passenger on that old truck, off to delivery trucks filled with goodies going everywhere. A journey that would take them both to the furthest reaches of the country.
 
When that day passed, it was like handing off responsibility I didn’t want, and my dad felt that. In place was another son just as thrilled for the adventure as I had been.
 
That made it all the worse being here now on this drive. How we both knew it should have been my brother here.
 
He was the outspoken one, the one that kept Dad talking, although the monotonous that the open road could become. The son that had actually still cared to be there instead of tuning out the drive until he was back home.
 
Funny how younger siblings just had a way of smashing those little enjoyments so much worse.
 
It had been years since we’d spoken about my brother. Longer for me than for my dad. He’d just latched onto what was left of him until there was nothing left to hold, and even he had to give up on him.
 
When the spoiled runt had gotten just about everything he could want; house, car, anything he could want and squeeze out of my folks, he’d eventually decide there was nothing left to get since just faking being in their lives became too much of a hassle and he’d slowly removed himself entirely.
 
I’d seen it coming sooner, knew the damage it would cause, and had to take up that role he had, and another son cast it off with no mind to care. Off I was back to picking up the pieces he’d tossed aside so carelessly. I’d be lying if I said it still hadn’t stung he’d even left me behind.
 
Today though, would be the last run the truck would ever make before Dad finally retired from an almost forty-long driving career.
 
I knew he’d have kept her going for the rest of his life if he could have gotten recertified for his CDL, but that same history being with the rig hadn’t been kind to him when it came down to his health until, finally, his blood pressure had just become too much to manage away from home. It would be up around his birthday a few days from now.
 
I pinched the bridge of my nose with a hard sigh.
 
Some birthday gift. Forced to leave his almost lifetime career with nothing but to show for it but his rig he wouldn’t even be able to drive soon, and I for sure wasn’t going to take up the mantle. His failing health that he’d need to correct when he was officially retired.
 
And all with a son that couldn’t even find the guts to talk. I knew I was going to have to do something, but god did I not know what.
 
————————————————————
June 4th, 10:00 Pm.
 
I was especially groggy when I woke back up, rough sleeping was assured, really, no matter how much you traveled, but I hadn’t been on a trip like this in a while. I felt seriously out of it with a heavy thirst and a hunger that had just been building, smacking my lips to get them to stop being so painfully dry.
 
My eyes widened a bit when I saw how dark it was now and the time.
 
10 Pm. 
 
We were supposed to swap shifts every four to six hours. He’d left me sleep beyond that and well towards night.
 
I felt my temper rise for a moment.
 
He knew he wasn’t supposed to drive extensively like this—especially not past six hours, let alone twelve. We should have breaked after his turn so he could walk. That’s what we were supposed to do to help with his blood pressure.
 
That spark of anger cooled when I saw the bag full of untouched food and drink, undisturbed for who knew how long. All just sitting for when I woke back up.
 
I couldn’t bring myself to make some of the first words I’d spoken shouting. Not when he’d not only taken off the pressure of having to talk, but was even still thinking of me enough to grab me things when we’d stopped. Despite how much I made it seem like I didn’t want to be there.
 
Then I saw the opened can of whatever energy drink he’d gotten to stay awake and pressed my head tightly against the headrest. He looked so much more disheveled than he had been. Having driven so long despite where we were driving to.
 
He’d reached over to take another drink, probably to finish it off, and I had to grab his hand.
 
He jumped a touch when he saw I was awake, all as I shook my head, with him knowing he was supposed to be off these things now.
 
There wasn’t any arguments when I made him pull over for the night as I drove us down to the nearest hotel, all on me.
 
He’d nearly refused that time, but I absolutely wasn’t going to let him sleep in the truck after the drive he’d had.
 
Silence was all that was between us as he got into bed as the cab was a sleeper unit, and I munched away at the stuff he’d gotten me. Snack mix with those crispy rye chips.
 
My favorite.
 
———————————————————— June 5th, 7:00 Am.
 
I was up getting our bags back into the rig when Dad came out as surprised as he’d ever been seeing his nite owl son up before even he was, and I was happy to shock him with that, even more so when I took the first drive.
 
He was enthralled with the silence this time as he watched my performance piloting the rig, especially when I took us down the right roads.
 
It was a little difficult, of course, with Dad having to point out when I was cranking too hard on shifting gears, but he nodded in approval when he saw I was driving like a regular operator.
 
The one part I for sure kept my mouth shut on was how I’d been up for a good part of the night looking up directions. The last sign I saw said we’d left Little Rock, and I didn’t know how much further it was to Tennessee off-hand.
 
He gave me enough grief about how much I needed a GPS, and there was, in fact, a burning shame that came from being such a poor navigator as the son of a trucker, but I only needed to ask for directions a dozen or so times—new personal best.
 
We were out of the almost endless inner border that was Texas and were off again. It was funny to us both how more than a day was spent trying to escape, but that was all as we once more fell into the same routine. The trip weighed on us again as heavily as the rig.
 
————————————————————
June 7th, 6:00 Pm.
 
I was slumped down hard into a couch, so wishing it could just swallow me up—anything so I could disappear.
 
Dad was outside in the truck, thinking who knew what. Angrier than I had seen him in a while.
 
Standing away from me with teary eyes was the friend I knew whose place we’d stopped out to crash for a night in the middle of Kentucky, looking crushed in a way that had to have been soul-shattering.
 
This was more than a friend for the longest time. She was closer to a partner that had just spilled the fact she even was, and that I’d found work down here. A king time plan after she’d left Texas to move down with family and how I’d planned to eventually follow. I hadn’t told my parents at all yet. I’d meant to tell Dad, and with all my shudder footing around the right time never came up. So the worst possible time had come up instead,
 
She apologized profusely, and I had to stop her. It wasn’t her fault at all. If only I’d told her more than Dad and I were coming up on our way to Virginia, just not why this wouldn’t have happened. I kept not telling anyone things.
 
When she’d calmed down enough, she urged me to go out now. If I waited and this built, it would only get worse.
 
I had to swallow every bit of insecurity and reluctance, and it was close to the most difficult thing I’d ever made myself do as I grabbed the truck handle and opened the door.
 
I’d expected to hear a quick shout or an angry face Dad. But he just had his hands in his face with plenty of tears he’d made sure hadn’t fallen. It had all been pouring out, and I immediately thought of my brother.
 
Dad was furious at so many things, but here, it was because he thought he didn’t know me, that I was slipping away just like his youngest had. That I was looking for anyway I could to leave.
 
I climbed into the passenger chair, not knowing anything I could say. Knowing he wasn’t wrong to think this, that I was a teenager all over again, disinterested in the traveling as though that led me to drift from him.
 
I didn’t have anything to say. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, as I did too often. How I wished I could so badly.
 
I hated myself when I got out of the cab and said goodbye to my poorly revealed partner before dragging myself back to it. And off we were again.
 
He thought I didn’t want to be there again, and I wasn’t giving him a reason not to believe it. And I wasn’t fighting to change that.
 
————————————————————
June 8th, 7 something.
 
We were stopped on some highway in whatever part of Kentucky we were at now, I’d really stopped paying attention the past few hours worse than I usually did. The rig was shut off after we’d heard a not-too-pleasant sounding pop, followed by a few puffs of smoke, right before the rig just up and died on us.
 
It was an intense, harrowing event for all of five seconds as Dad pulled the truck over on the side of the open country road, a special kind of a whole lot of nothing.
 
Dad was rummaging through the front, trying to get things working again, and I was just here inside still, watching the lights flicker occasionally before getting the go-ahead to get the ignition going, giving the key a turn absentmindedly. It would sputter to life for only a moment and then nothing.
 
A little too long of nothing. I tried to peek around the raised hood, but it blocked nearly every inch of the windows.
 
I called out to him as I pushed the door open, looking around the front of the rig with no sight of him.
 
I shouted out for him as I got down from the cab, almost breaking into a run when I found him just leaning against the back tires, seeing him holding some scrap of paper tightly.
 
I kicked my feet around awkwardly when I leaned against the tire beside him.
 
Dad didn’t often cry, once or twice growing up, but this was a close second with him looking so frustrated.
 
I caught sight of the paper he had, the same one we’d gotten several days back. One id wrestled with the thought that I should have burned it when I’d first read it.
 
The men of the family on either my mother's or my father's side didn’t have a habit of sticking around. Same for Dad.
 
That letter was from his own father, trying to get back in touch with him after nearly his whole life of missing out. And, of course, around the time he was about to kick it. Death always had that way of making you regretful, especially with a son you’d abandoned 40 years ago.
 
I knew the story by now. He’d met the guy when he was 17. First time meeting a distant father that had left his mother first chance he got. And with not even a handshake, he was out of his life again.
 
Dad was in the same boat when his time came. 20-something with a kid on the way with my mother, fresh out of high school with a kid they hadn’t planned for and had no idea what they were going to do with. She was a high school dropout, and he was about to enter the military. Would anyone have blamed him if he’d taken off too and never looked back?
 
He would have.
 
And after a few tours he’d never talked about either, here we were, on the way to visit a dad that had never cared. On just about the last day we had with the truck.
 
I had to push everything away as best I could as I spoke up.
 
“Dad. Do you even want to be here?” I asked through those few moments of silence.
 
He gave it a thoughtful look like he was surprised I even had to ask before he held the letter up, reading it over again.
 
He balled it up in his hands entirely and let it fall to the ground.
 
“No.”
 
Dad took hold of my shoulder as he pulled me up and back into the cab we went. “But I know where I do wanna be.”
 
He got us back on the road and took us off on a highway that led far away from the one to Virginia until I saw a few signs all heading to Indiana. And the road behind us disappeared.
————————————————————
June 9th.
 
Dad pulled the truck down an unfamiliar road until we had to walk it the rest of the way, coming to a few different tombstones lined perfectly. He said he hadn’t been here since before I was born. Maybe even before then.
 
We walked through flower-filled rows until we came to one in particular, with Dad placing his hand on the stone and brushing away some dust as he sorrowfully looked at it.
 
“Hi, dad…” He said as we kneeled by it.
 
Dad gave my shoulder a clasp, and I placed my hand on the tablet with him.
 
“Edward ‘Ted‘ Outlaw.” The man that had married my grandmother and adopted him. He had wanted to, before he’d passed. Who’d raised him to be the man that had stayed for his own son,
 
Dad didn’t need to see a father who had never wanted him. He was here with the man that had.
 
It was a different kind of silence now. Not the awkward kind it had been. It was solemn and thoughtful as that little barrier through the years started to dissolve.
 
 
","August 03, 2023 00:17","[[{'Herman W Clarke': 'This was great - the style of writing really matched the themes, and I felt compelled to read the rest straight from the start', 'time': '09:19 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1m3krz,The End Of The Road,Danielle Azoulay,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1m3krz/,/short-story/1m3krz/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama']",9 likes,"
Wyatt smiled as the driver behind him blasted their horn.
The man in the large truck proceeded to speed around him, shaking his finger up in the air angrily.
“Some people are so impatient, huh?” he chuckled, turning to his passenger seat.
Sunny drew a deep breath out, her little black snout dripping with condensation.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” 
He pet the top of her head tenderly.
Sure, he had somewhere to be too, but he wasn’t in a rush.
This would be his last normal day for a while.
His white 2001 Toyota hummed tiredly at the red light.
“Now I didn’t want to tell you right away, but guess where we’re going?”
Sunny, who was snuggling with her favorite purple butterfly blanket, started lightly snoring. Wyatt’s question caused her to look up curiously.
“The dog park!” he shouted, ruffling her golden fur and planting a kiss atop her head.
She wagged her tail.
“We just have to make a few stops first.”
Wyatt pulled into his favorite coffee drive through.
“Welcome to Crazy Beans, my name is Emily. How can I help you?” the chipper voice echoed through the speakers.
His mind trailed off for a moment.
“No sugar,” Dr. Graham’s stern advice sent Wyatt into a dissociative state. He quickly shook his head and cleared his throat nervously.
“Hi, can I get a super large caramel sundae iced latte, with extra caramel and a pup cup please?” he asked.
He checked himself in the rearview mirror, brushing back his long, dark curls before pulling up to the pick-up window.
“Aw, what a cute dog! What breed is he?” Emily asked as she handed him his order.
“She’s a golden retriever and collie mix, or so we’ve been told,” he said, holding out the paper cup of whipped cream to her nose, “Her name is Sunny.”
“Can I get a picture for our dog board?” she asked eagerly.
Wyatt agreed, and laughed as the barista snapped a photo of Sunny, who was now going to town on the little cup of cream.
She licked the container continuously until there was nothing left. 
“Bye, Sunny!”
She turned to Wyatt.
“Have a nice day,” she said with a smile.
God she was cute, Wyatt thought as he sped away from the coffee spot. 
Dr. Graham’s stern, hard face cut through his daydreams, remembering his visit from late last month.
“How much time?” 
The doctor checked his notepad.
“A month, maximum. Unfortunately the cancer has spread too rapidly for us to attempt to operate, amongst other reasons.”
Wyatt’s brain had gone blank at the diagnosis.
The entire world as he knew it, had already changed and he couldn’t accept it.
How had Dr. Graham been so calm? How could you possibly get used to telling someone the worst news of their life?
He shook his head, taking large gulps of his coffee. The cool, sweet beverage was refreshing on this hot summer day. It helped clear his mind.
He would enjoy today. Take it slow, spend some time with his best friend.
Sunny seemed to bark on queue, licking her empty paper cup.
“Oh you’re a hungry baby girl, aren’t you?” he said warmly. 
Perfect. Time for his Wallop, his favorite burger joint.
Dr. Graham interrupted his thoughts again.
“No heavy foods, nothing greasy.”
At his next drive-through location, he ordered a triple decker burger, smothered in barbeque sauce, onions and extra pickles. And on the side, four burger patties, and a side of pickles.
He drove out to the beach and parked across from the waterfront.
“This is exceptional, don’t you think?” 
Sunny was busy digging through her third patty, pausing occasionally to grab a pickle. She always loved pickles, what a crazy dog.
Wyatt didn’t usually feed her this kind of junk, but today, on his last day of normalcy, it was okay.
He remembered telling his family the diagnosis. How he watched their eyes cloud with thoughts of the near future. He spent a lot of time thinking, what constitutes a fulfilling life when you’re given a limit?
After they finished their burgers, he took in the ocean one last time, holding up Sunny to the window so she could see the aquamarine waves crash down onto the shore.
“Beautiful, huh? Can you see the end of the ocean, girl?”
It had to end somewhere, just like most things. He took in a big breath of that salty, misty air.
 
Wyatt slowly pulled out of the parking lot, it was time for the dog park.
He drove for what seemed like 100 miles, but in reality was only 30 minutes. The sun had reached its summer peak. The golden rays softened the breeze that danced through his open windows, tangling both his hair and Sunny’s golden fur simultaneously.
 
He had circled the lot a few times before deciding on the perfect spot, and pulled in slowly. 
After repositioning the spot three times, Wyatt finally put the car in park and looked up.
 
“Well, here we are, girl. The dog park.”
He stared lifelessly up at the Greendale Animal Hospital, a sterile, white building that radiated an unfriendly aura.
Dr. Graham told him to take his time, but be in no later than 6:30 for the appointment.
He glanced down at Sunny. Instead of her usual response, jumping up and pressing her paws to the window, anxiously wagging her tail, she was still laying down in the seat, attempting to lick some crumbs off of the upholstery.
Wyatt’s heart fell below his knees, feeling the weight of the world fall onto his lap.
He held out a shaky hand and brushed her fur, and she looked up at him tenderly.
He smiled, holding back tears.
“You’re gonna love it here, they’ve got all the best toys and treats.”
Her ear perked up at one of her favorite words.
“There’s fields you can run in for miles and miles, and not get tired.”
He pet her back and she licked his hand, trying her best to stand but falling back onto her blanket tiredly. Years of memories poured through his brain as if they were on a film reel, eventually taking him back to his first memory of her. 
She was a tiny little thing, more fluff than dog. And so full of energy, dancing all around the house, needing to explore every crevice, but always coming back to lay in his lap.
“And the best part?” He paused, a single tear trickling down his nose, “They’ve got a rainbow bridge.”
 
","August 03, 2023 21:21","[[{'Todd Johnson': 'Danielle, what a heartbreaking read. The conclusion came as a total surprise, but made sense in the end who Dr. Graham had been advising Wyatt about. As an owner of a dog also, I could feel the connection between Wyatt and Sunny, which made it even more heart-rending as the tale came to a close. I like your use of description - very restrained but effective in moving the emotional center of the story to the forefront. My only\nconstructive criticism would be perhaps changing the title to something like “The Park” as it’s clear from the get-go...', 'time': '21:26 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Danielle Azoulay': 'Thank you so much! I appreciate your feedback and I’m glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '21:49 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Danielle Azoulay': 'Thank you so much! I appreciate your feedback and I’m glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '21:49 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,k3qodb,Cage Rider,Jed Cope,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/k3qodb/,/short-story/k3qodb/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Drama', 'Suspense']",8 likes,"
There’s something about being inside a car that speaks of what it is to be.
 
He thinks this to himself as the ribbon of tarmac unfurls before him. He wonders why this has never struck him before now. Encased in the car, he sees the world outside in a way that it cannot see him. From the outside he is sleek, shiny and smooth. Inside he is so very different. Inside he knows different. Inside the car, he is no longer naked, nor is he weak. The car makes him dare to believe that he could be forever.
 
He’s always loved cars. Not liked. Loved. His first word wasn’t mummy or daddy, it was car. When he couldn’t sleep, his folks would put him on the back seat of their car and drive around the block. He’d be flat out and smiling before they were half way through the journey. He never asked them how it was that they had known to do that. Now he will never know.
 
Glancing in his mirror, he looks back into his past for an answer, knowing that it is not there. Not anymore.
 
The mirror distorts his view, but he uses it all the same. He uses them all. Three mirrors looking back. Clear right now. Nothing of value to see, but he knows that in the next instant there may be danger lurking at his shoulder. Three paranoid eyes teaching him wariness and anxiety. Urging him to take his eyes off the road to attend to what might be. 
 
He’s aware enough to know that were he to do that, he would be leaving the present moment and risking all of his futures. 
 
Driving is living.
 
Driving is being in the present moment. 
 
Driving is life.
 
There is nothing else, only interruptions and noise.
 
So why is it that his mind wanders and explores and takes him to places far from this spot on the road?
 
He does his best thinking inside a car. There’s something out of whack with that, he knows. This isn’t thinking. Not really it isn’t. What it is, is the result of all the thinking he did before he pulled on his seatbelt and fired the big old V8 up. Inside the car, all he can attend to is the journey. There can be nothing else. But while he’s busy at the wheel, all the buffering in his mind comes to an end and the answers pop out along a sporadic and staccato ticker tape. Long periods of driving, his music drifting through the cabin space, then an answer trots out of his mind and presents itself to him, whispering of alchemy and magic.
 
Here in his car, he is safe. This is his space. He fits in. He belongs. Cocooned in the metal shell, he is held apart from a cruel and hostile world and the struggle of living slips away. The real becomes unreal via the filter of the windscreen and ever watchful mirrors. There is a paradox here. He is aware of that paradox and he makes an effort not to be seduced by the unreal. He’s not foolish. He knows it seeps into him all the same. 
 
The trick is to drive well and remain focused. It’s all too easy to lapse. He sees it all the time. Drivers with their head bowed as though in prayer. He supposes they are praying in a way, worshipping the gods that reside behind the screen of their phones. Sending messages into the unreal and pining for responses from those fickle and callous gods. Tuning out and dropping off whilst at the wheel of a two ton chariot. Willing to make random sacrifices if it will please the gods of a world they will never understand and never be a valid part of.
 
He passed one a mile or so back. The signs were there. Cars have body language. It doesn’t take much skill to read them. A car shaping up to make a turn without indicating its intentions. He usually sees that. Unless of course the driver is elsewhere and the car is out of control. The car he passed was drifting over the lines in the road and then it drifted back in the direction of the grass verge. The driver glancing up from their phone to make last minute adjustments to the steering wheel in order to continue their time elsewhere and elsewhen. 
 
He has a creed. A few words he lives by on the open road. 
 
Put the danger behind him.
 
He overtook the veering car as it charted a course for the ditch at the side of the road. Dropped down a gear and revelled in the rumble of the V8 as it made easy work of accelerating alongside the car that had begun to annoy and unsight him. That is a problem with these drivers. They demand too much attention, and in the aftermath of the noise they create, he knows he is clumsy and distracted. This angers him all the more. These people have no business to be on the road if the road is not their business. Every so often, he will read a news article on a fatal car crash. Nine times out of ten, the driver who caused the crash, and the death of others, walks away. This is the risk profile and this is the consequence of bad driving, or in the case of the phone worshipers, non-existent driving. They will kill others, and then they will walk away without a backward glance, their eyes already back on the screen, wishing their lives away in the most painless and ignorant of ways. Death by apathy.
 
He always glances across out of control car as he overtakes. He wants to know who it is that he needs to avoid. This time, he is alongside the car and looking over at a twenty something woman. Something happened in the world a decade or so ago. There’s a new breed of driver and they are hyper aggressive, rivalling even the spam hued middle aged men who seem intent on self-inducing a heart attack at the wheel. 
 
The woman is startled at the presence of his car. That is how out of it she has been. Her peripheral vision has alerted her to a potential danger and she awakens violently from her online slumber. He sees her phone describe an upward arc, hitting the windscreen then spiralling away from her. She has lost her lover and as she experiences this unwanted separation her mood changes. Her serene and spaced out face is terribly transformed by the demon of her anger. The mask she wears frightens him and he has the presence of mind to act decisively. He presses his foot down on the accelerator, more by instinct than thought. A primaeval reaction to a predator on the attack. How her car misses his, he will never know. His eye is drawn to the side mirror and he witnesses her attempt to ram him. She has twisted the wheel in a harsh and irrational response to his existence. Her car seems to twist out of shape, the suspension pushed down hard on the front left corner, the opposite side lifting as though the car will leap in the very next instant, and it damn near does. There is an accompanying cry of anguish as she pushes her balled fist into the steering wheel. The horn sounds like a dinosaur robbed of its meal, and she is screaming her rage in accompaniment to that song of rage-filled disappointment.
 
He pulls back onto his side of the road, his eyes on the mirror hanging from the top of the windscreen. Her car has travelled right across the road to the other side. Just before it leaves the road she twists the wheel in the opposite direction and the car twists again, doing its dangerous waggle dance. Dancing in a display, showing all the other cars where the danger is. She’s overcorrected and doesn’t seem to be scrubbing any speed off. He watches and toys with the pending dilemma of stopping to assist the homicidal woman. He knows it’s the right thing to do and would continue to be the right thing to do, right up until the moment she is thrusting a knife between his ribs. His answer to this dilemma resides in his right foot. It stays exactly where it is. He feels very little relief as he sees her car eventually slow and stop at the side of the road. No doubt she is already ferreting around under the passenger seat to retrieve her lost lover. Her overwhelming addiction making her tremble with panic and withdrawal. There is no justice here. She has learnt very little. Instead she has reinforced her mistaken belief that it is not her fault. She is an exception. She is special. Any fault lies beyond the castle walls of her car. 
 
Their fault.
 
Always their fault.
 
He is glad that he has survived that encounter and he is glad that she is behind him. He knows there will be others, but for now he has the open road and the chances are that he will encounter good and fair drivers for a while yet. He’ll still overtake them, but they won’t scream at him, nor will they wave at him with sexual hand gestures that they wouldn’t dare make without the protection of all that armour, let alone fulfil. Outside their car they are impotent, soft and vulnerable and all of the bravado leaks from them, a few pitiful tears and they shrink away from the raging fires of the world that dwarfs them.
 
You have to take the rough with the smooth, he reminds himself. He’s calm again now. The surge of adrenaline that the attack caused has now leached from his body. Back to levels that don’t cause his body to tremble, buck and kick. Normal service is resuming and with it comes his smile. There is a harmony now. The music sooths him and the journey lifts him. He brakes before the corner and prepares to turn in. Corners are highlights of the journey. He’s on the gas and powering out of the corner and entering a new vista. Corners bring change. They deliver new challenges. 
 
The tarmac snakes and rolls ahead of him and he begins to hum to himself. Accompanying this is the low base rumble of the V8, a sound he could never tire of. The beating heart of his car. The roar of defiance against a world that no longer wants it. He does though. He was meant for this and it means everything to him. This is where it all makes sense. This is where he makes sense. He presses his foot down on the accelerator and the roar of the V8 washes over him like the sea. His eyes glaze over as he abandons himself in the moment and to the moment.
 
Cancer, he hears the word as it rises up unbidden from the depths of his mind. The doc delivered the news earlier today. He sat in the too bright surgery, numb to the news of his pending demise. The doc kept talking, but he was no longer listening. Not anymore. What was the point? Those words weren’t for him. They were just the doc doing his job and fulfilling his obligations. Not long, was all he needed to know. He filled the rest in himself. The quality of his life was on a downward curve and there would never be an upswing, not even a temporary spike. Nothing to look forward to, except for the end of his days and a finale of pain and suffering to remind him what it was really all about.
 
He knows that he should have thought about his loved ones. Maybe he did. Maybe he is. One thing was clear to him and it was all that he saw. Soon enough he would reach a point in his life when he’d never drive again. Everything would be taken from him, piece by piece and bit by bit. Everything dismantled and removed. A regression to nothingness. In the end, he’d lay in a bed and wish for death, laughing at himself. Laughing at the joke he had become, laughing as he saw the punchline, because by then, he was already dead. Devoid of utility. Useless and purposeless and redundant. So redundant and so badly designed that there was no easy way to switch himself off. Death would have to do that for him. He’d be robbed of choice at the very end.
 
Well, he’d found a way. He did have a choice after all. Time to retire the thirsty old V8 and him both. Time to climb into the saddle, knowing he was already dead, but still capable of one last act of rebellion. Thing was, no one else was to know that he was dead. And so he’d ride out one last time, ride along the beach and drive his foe back into the sea.
 
One last ride in this cage of his. 
 
All things must end.
 
The bright red motor vehicle left the road and surged through the air, chrome wheels spinning as though they were propelling it through the sky. No one saw the smile on the driver’s face, nor the single tear that rolled down his cheek. The tear encapsulated everything in that moment from sadness to joy, and if you took a closer look there were myriad images flickering inside it, a matinee showing of a life well lived.
 
The car swooped down from the skies and came to rest on the surface of the water, and for a moment, it looked for all the world like it belonged there, adrift on a river, making its way out to sea, destined for a port in a land, far, far away. The car paused and took in its new surroundings, then it knew what it must do. Dropping its nose it pushed down into the murky waters and seeing its final destination it slipped from view never to be found.
","July 31, 2023 16:05","[[{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Jed you have managed to string together a range of emotions; all the opportunities of escape from the bitterness of reality. As for the critique circle a dash of dialogue may help your story to be even more attractive. Your description of everything that takes place in the car is so graphic that one can empathize. Great story!', 'time': '09:36 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': ""Great feedback, thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I love cars, and motorbikes for that matter - I find writing about them difficult. That difficulty may amount to my fear of doing them justice, so it was good to have this prompt. I hear what you're saying about dialogue. Some things are tricky when it comes to a short... Also, I am guilty of that thing we are supposed to do, which is write for ourselves. Dialogue is a mere touch of expression of what lies within. I find myself drawn to inner dialogue and more meaningful elements of a s..."", 'time': '16:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Jed for your response and liking my feedback. May God bless you.', 'time': '18:13 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jed Cope': ""Great feedback, thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I love cars, and motorbikes for that matter - I find writing about them difficult. That difficulty may amount to my fear of doing them justice, so it was good to have this prompt. I hear what you're saying about dialogue. Some things are tricky when it comes to a short... Also, I am guilty of that thing we are supposed to do, which is write for ourselves. Dialogue is a mere touch of expression of what lies within. I find myself drawn to inner dialogue and more meaningful elements of a s..."", 'time': '16:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Jed for your response and liking my feedback. May God bless you.', 'time': '18:13 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Thanks Jed for your response and liking my feedback. May God bless you.', 'time': '18:13 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""You did it again. Took something seemingly normal and mundane and turned it into 'What happened there!!!'"", 'time': '17:29 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'Thanks! I like this one a lot. I think it came together pretty well.', 'time': '19:28 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'Thanks! I like this one a lot. I think it came together pretty well.', 'time': '19:28 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,mu2gpw,Occasional Signs,J.J. Erwin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mu2gpw/,/short-story/mu2gpw/,Dramatic,0,"['Gay', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Coming of Age']",8 likes,"
CASSODAY	40 MILES
EL DORADO	60 MILES
WICHITA  90 MILES
 
They had been in the car for over an hour already and, besides Jeff asking Adrian if he was ready to go after they stopped for gas on their way out of town, they hadn’t spoken the whole ride. With each passing mile marker, with each destination sign, taunting him with how close they were nearing home, Jeff felt his heartbeat increasing, his palms growing sweaty, his stomach churning. Even his neck was hurting for all the times he had turned to glance at Adrian, waiting for either Adrian or himself to start speaking. But nothing ever happened. The thought that they would arrive in Wichita with nothing to show for all their time together made Jeff want to scream, and he began to doubt if the last hour and a half of the ride would be enough to change his life. 
 
Jeff partly felt he shouldn’t have been surprised at this turn of events, or lack thereof. Although they were in the same friend group, Jeff sometimes felt like he and Adrian never actually talked. Mostly Jeff felt like he didn’t know how to start a conversation with Adrian. Whenever they did have a few moments together to chat, just themselves, Jeff felt the pressure of his unrequited love consume him, pressing down on every word he might say until it was flattened and useless. And Adrian, for his part, rarely struck up conversations with Jeff, which Jeff had desperately tried to understand why, but to no avail. 
 
So when Adrian asked him one day at lunch about the scholarship exam at Washburn, Jeff was taken aback. In fact, he thought he had misheard, thinking Adrian was instead telling him he was going on his own. 
 
“Oh, that’s cool. Well, I guess maybe I’ll see you there,” Jeff said, his voice quavering with disappointment. 
 
Adrian had laughed at him then. “No, sorry, I was asking if you want to go together.” 
 
“You want to go with me?” Jeff asked so skeptically that Adrian began to doubleback.
 
“Well, yeah, but only if you want, or can…” 
 
“Oh! I mean…yeah, sure, of course. That’d be great!” Jeff exclaimed, telling himself to take it down a notch. 
 
“Ok. Cool,” Adrian replied with a small smile. “Do you actually mind driving? I think your car is nicer and my parents don’t like me driving too far with mine.”
 
Jeff’s car definitely wasn’t nicer, but he liked the idea of Adrian depending on him. “Yeah, that should be fine. I’ll check with my parents and we can figure out logistics.” 
 
For Jeff, this was as good as setting up a date. Adrian was asking to spend two and a half hours in a car on a Saturday, plus test time, plus lunch and then maybe a tour, even dinner, and then the drive home, alone together. Adrian was asking for a whole day affair. 
 
Though Jeff knew it was unlikely that anything would happen—Adrian didn’t know Jeff was gay, and Jeff was 99.99999% certain that Adrian was not gay–the chance to spend that much time alone with Adrian made Jeff feel like it was an opportunity for something. Maybe Jeff would come out to Adrian, maybe Adrian would come out to Jeff, maybe they would hold hands while driving, maybe they would kiss, maybe Adrian would declare his love for Jeff, suggesting they get a hotel room and stay the night, having already planned out what they would tell their parents. Maybe Jeff would finally have a boyfriend. Or, maybe, Jeff thought, bringing himself back to reality, he would simply finally have someone to talk to. 
 
WICHITA 	 20 MILES
WELLINGTON  55 MILES
OKLA. CITY	 182 MILES
 
Jeff tried to time his glances to Adrian’s face with the headlights of oncoming cars, hopeful to catch a glimpse of something, anything, in his eyes. 
 
“Sorry, you don’t mind the music, right? You can choose a CD if you want,” Jeff tried, feeling stupid for asking such a question near the end of their trip. 
 
“Nah, this is fine with me,” Adrian said. Finally, Adrian’s eyes moved away from the road and onto Jeff’s. There was a message there, Jeff knew it, but he honestly didn’t know what it was. 
 
This too was something Jeff was used to. Jeff was constantly in search of some kind of nuance behind everything that Adrian did or said–every word, every look, every movement was an opportunity for Jeff to divine Adrian’s interest in him. And mostly, to Jeff’s dismay, nothing could ever be discerned…until it could. Indeed, what spurred Jeff on, what kept him going down this interstate of infatuation, were the occasional signs, or what Jeff thought were signs, of some kind of mutual interest. 
 
The most recent signs had appeared the evening of the fall homecoming dance a few weeks prior to this momentous Saturday. His friend group had dressed up and met at their friend Brian’s house for pictures before heading over to the school together. When Jeff arrived, he immediately looked for Adrian, and after he scanned the room for a second, he spotted him sitting on the couch with their friend Jason. To Jeff’s surprise, Adrian was looking directly at him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Adrian had been waiting for him, watching the door for his arrival. Adrian smiled at him and then turned back to Jason. For a moment Jeff stood frozen in the room, unable to decide what to do next until Brian’s parents yelled for everyone to head outside for pictures. 
 
Despite this burning look he received upon entering Brian’s house, he and Adrian didn’t interact until later at the dance. Jeff was standing off to the side away from the dance floor studying Adrian as he danced with his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Kara, when Adrian stopped dancing and started to head off the dance floor towards Jeff. Adrian was walking with such purpose that Jeff half-wondered if he was coming to tell Jeff to stop staring, half-wondered if this was the moment they would finally kiss. 
 
“Having fun?” Adrian said with a big, knowing smile. He had to lean in close to Jeff so he could be heard over the blaring sound of early 2000s hip hop music. Jeff felt Adrian’s nose touch his ear before Adrian corrected himself away from Jeff.
 
“Oh, tons. I love this,” Jeff deadpanned over the voice of Mary J. Blige. He hated dances because it reminded him that he couldn’t dance with the person he most wanted to, but he always went because he also hated the idea of missing out on an opportunity to be with Adrian.
 
“You should head out there, find someone to boogie with!” Adrian clapped Jeff on the shoulder. He was teasing Jeff, which Jeff loathed and adored in equal measure.
 
“Did you just say ‘boogie with’?” Jeff gave Adrian an incredulous and disgusted look. “Who are you? My grandpa?” 
 
Adrian laughed and shoved Jeff a little. “Come on! It’ll be fun. You can come dance with Kara and me. And Alicia’s there, too.” Jeff saw Kara and Alica waving vigorously from the dance floor. He really didn’t want to dance with Adrian and Kara and Alicia. But he didn’t want to be a party pooper in front of Adrian either. 
 
Jeff rolled his eyes dramatically. “Geez, fine!”
 
Adrian’s face flashed with genuine surprise. “Really? Nice!” He grabbed Jeff by the elbow to drag him out to the middle of the dance floor. Jeff’s arm burned where Adrian held him, and he didn’t know how Adrian wasn’t pulling back his hand. When they got to the center where all of their friends were, Adrian announced Jeff’s arrival, which again embarrassed but also pleased him. 
 
After everyone acknowledged his presence they all went back to concentrating on dancing. He soon found himself getting caught up in the mood around him. From the outside, he must have looked…happy. And as the music started to move through him, he realized he was having more fun than he expected. Jeff gazed at his friends and pinpointed a feeling of belonging, of non-otherness, that wasn’t usually there. For a brief moment, Jeff felt like he was one of them, and the relief was as palpable as the thumping of the bass.
 
And then the DJ changed the song to a slow song. 
 
He had been mortified to be caught on the dance floor at such a moment and quickly started to make his way off. After a few steps, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and found Adrian pointing to Alicia, who was waving Jeff over to her. He examined Adrian’s face in the colorful dance floor light to see if he could glean any meaning from this, from Adrian’s preoccupation with Jeff dancing with Alicia. But he couldn’t, he could only see Adrian’s encouraging smile. 
 
Instead of risking coming across as rude or drawing attention to his lack of desire, he moved towards Alicia and smiled, “Hey, shall we dance?” Alicia nodded and put her arms around his neck as he put his hands around her waist. 
 
He caught Adrian’s eye one more time. This time, he didn’t have to wonder if Adrian was looking at him because Adrian’s look seemed to barrel into him. Jeff didn’t know how else to interpret the intensity of Adrian’s stare. It had to mean something, right? But the longer he held Adrian’s eyes, Jeff realized that it was his own sadness being reflected back to him. Adrian may have wanted to tell Jeff something, but suddenly Jeff wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. At this, Jeff, almost begrudgingly, turned away. He regretted it immediately. When he looked back a few seconds later, Adrian had already buried his face in Kara’s neck. 
 
Part of him wished at that moment that his crush was on Alicia and not Adrian, that this moment with her could have been the start of something, something that didn’t have to risk losing his family and friends. But he knew it would never be like that for him, and all that rushing happiness that had flowed through the music and into him for the last fifteen minutes was mopped up and wrung out. 
 
Jeff stayed away from the dance floor for the rest of the night and none of his friends tried to coax him on again. 
 
CITY LIMIT
WICHITA 
POP 355,076
 
As the car ride stretched on without any semblance of conversation, let alone proclamations of love, Jeff began to berate himself for being so pathetic. One for having thought something would happen at all, let alone of its own (that is, Adrian’s) making, and two, for being unable and too afraid to initiate some sort of chain of events, whatever that might be. 
 
On the way to Topeka, they hadn’t spoken much either, but Jeff had chalked that up to the early hour and anxiousness about the test. And then after the test they had talked a lot, but mostly about the test and the answers they got to different questions and pondering how they did. Both of them felt like they had done poorly, but both of them told the other that they were sure they had done great. And then they had the tour, where they talked only occasionally, trying to listen to the guide, but making time for jokes and comments about what they were seeing or awkward things the guide said. Later they had gotten a quick bite to eat at Wendy’s (Adrian made Jeff choose), where they scarfed down their food and barely spoke. 
 
Now they were alone, really alone, without distraction. Perhaps they were tired from a long day, but Jeff didn’t think this excuse held out for an entire trip from Topeka to Wichita. The more silence there was, the more intensely Jeff wanted, needed, something to happen. This was the time. Every road sign they passed seemed to have been overwritten with the word TALK. Talk, talk, talk. Why couldn’t they just talk?
 
The thought occurred to Jeff that he didn't even know what he would say. Was he really just going to say “I’m gay”? Or, worse, “I’m in love with you.” He pictured Adrian freaking out and asking Jeff to stop the car so he could get out and call someone else, or maybe even the police. 
 
But what if Adrian was waiting to say something? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t speaking. He was too scared, too afraid of the same rejection. No, not just rejection, absolute ostracism. Maybe neither of them could find the words to say the one thing they most did and didn’t want to say, and it was clogging up their throats and mouths until they could no longer breathe. 
 
WELCOME TO CEDAR PARK COMMUNITY
 
Time was both rushing by and stretching out, and suddenly, but not for the first time, Jeff wished he were a different person. A braver one. One that spoke. One that wasn’t shy. One that wasn’t afraid of being who he was. One that could be the stronger person for the both of them. One that could help them cross that impassable bridge. But he wasn’t. And they didn’t speak. With each passing block, Jeff became more and more agitated and yet quieter and quieter, until he was only a sigh and Adrian only the sound of breathing.
 
At last, Jeff pulled into Adrian’s driveway, and in a small moment of bravery, he parked and turned off the car. He felt Adrian’s eyes on him then but neither of them moved and again there was only silence for a few moments, perhaps only milliseconds, until Jeff cleared his throat. 
 
“Thanks for the ride.” For a second, Jeff was confused, thinking he had spoken. But it was Adrian’s voice coming through the silence. 
 
“Um, right. Yeah, no problem.”
 
Adrian grabbed the door handle. 
 
“Um,” Jeff said, clearing his throat again. 
 
“Hm?”
 
Jeff saw the mountain of syllables in front of him and couldn’t bring himself to climb it. 
 
“Did you say something?”
 
“No, sorry. No. I didn’t. Yeah, ok, cool. I guess, um…” Jeff waited at that moment for any kind of sign from Adrian, but there was nothing. Adrian was acting as if this was all normal and expected. “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you Monday?” 
 
Adrian nodded, “Yeah, see you Monday.” And then he climbed out and shut the door. 
 
The rush of air from the door hit Jeff in the face, bringing with it the realization that on this Saturday unlike any other, but somehow exactly the same as every other day, he was ending it the same way he started it: alone. 
 
","July 31, 2023 17:03","[[{'Shahzad Ahmad': 'Nice buildup and crisp dialogue. Good story.', 'time': '12:08 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,3bht5o,Pound Cake,Haley White,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3bht5o/,/short-story/3bht5o/,Dramatic,0,"['Sad', 'Creative Nonfiction']",8 likes,"
 Despite having driven away from this place dozens of times, I never did get good at saying goodbye. It’s been more than a decade since I called this small town home but sitting behind the wheel of my SUV, I feel the lump in my throat threaten my breath as I adjust the rear-view mirror. I raise a hand in one last wave to my father as I pull away, putting the Blue Ridge Mountains behind me. Twelve hours of highway stretch ahead, and my husband sits in the backseat with our three-month-old son so I can focus on the road. Lately I’ve missed his presence in the passenger seat. Today, though, I admit to myself that I am thankful for a little space to swallow the fact that the next time I’m in my hometown, my grandmother won’t be waiting for me. “You okay?” My husband’s voice rolls over me like the wind, a breeze gently reminding me that I’m not alone in this moment. “It doesn’t feel real.” It’s raining now and the sound of my windshield wipers feels louder than it is. My grandmother was ninety-one years old. It’s not as if this was a shock. Even so, her presence was so large in the lives of all who knew her that it is impossible to understand the weight of her absence. “What would you tell her?” This time it’s not my husband’s voice I hear; he’s given up trying to talk over the sound of the rain beating against the windows. It’s my own voice in my head, already begging me not to forget her. I signal for a lane change, grateful that the traffic is light as I navigate my way home. What would I tell her? What would be enough to make absolutely certain she knew the size of the hole she was leaving me with? I’d tell her that the pound cake she taught me to make as a teenager was a lifesaver that kept my stomach filled as a snowed-in college student. That I can still smell the cornbread that was perpetually baking in a cast iron skillet in her apartment. I would tell her that every time I see a house with an arched brick entry, I feel a desperate longing in my bones for the house in Sandy Mush where she and my grandfather gave all my cousins and me our childhoods. That to this day, I will answer to a handful of names other than my own, because sometimes it would take her a minute to land on the right granddaughter. I’d also tell her that I never minded being mixed up with the older cousins because it made me feel grown up. I’d tell her how much pride it gave me every time she beamed about her baby: my father, the youngest of her ten children. And that I secretly thought he was her favorite and by extension, maybe I was, too. My whole life she would introduce herself by saying she had ten kids, and every one of them were still living. I’d tell her that I wish she could see all ten of them lined up in birth order to tell her goodbye. She would have been so proud to see them all together like that in her honor. I’d tell her that the childhood weekends and summer days spent with her and my grandfather would forever be my favorite memories. Barefoot, I would step carefully through their vegetable garden, gathering the ingredients for our next meal or for the afternoon’s plans for canning. She’d often have a friend come over and spend a whole day, and we’d sit out on the porch watching the cars go by as we snapped beans or shucked corn. The sound of a car horn, muffled by the rain, reminds me of my reality. I glance at the rearview mirror and see my little family, my husband’s hand stretched over into the baby’s car seat. The two of them have fallen asleep holding hands. I wish I could tell my grandmother that everything I knew about having a family, I learned from her. I’d tell her that watching her work with her hands my whole life - needling, cooking, cleaning - is why I think I can’t keep my hands still. I’d make sure she knew that I still remember how to make that pound cake. I can’t wait for my son to be old enough to try it. I hope that the love I put into cooking for my son will bring him the same comfort that my grandmother’s cooking did for me. If I could, I’d hold her hands, covered in the rings that would dig into my skin when she squeezed, and I’d thank her for making sure I never stopped singing. I’d thank her for showing me how to coordinate the pedals on an old piano while moving my fingers across the ivory keys. I’d tell her that singing with her was one of the greatest privileges of my life. I’d tell her about my son. How thankful I am that he got to meet her just a month before she closed her eyes for the last time. I’d tell her how sometimes he makes a face and looks at me in a way that tells me she’s in him. I would tell her I’m sorry for not calling more after he was born. I’d tell her that if I’m honest with myself, I’m more than a little angry that he wouldn’t get to know her. That he wouldn’t remember laying across her lap as she looked at him with pride or clutching her frail finger in his tiny hand. “You can turn those off,” my husband tells me. His voice rings softly from behind me. I hadn’t noticed that the rain had stopped. I wonder if the windshield wipers woke him. It’s time to stop for a break and my body feels stiff. “What were you thinking about?” he asks me as I pull off on an exit. Where would I even start? Rather than try to explain, I tell him, “Nothing, really. Just thinking about making a pound cake.”
","August 01, 2023 16:42","[[{'Diane Tolley': 'Just lovely! You have made me feel I knew her!', 'time': '21:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Haley White': 'Thank you, Diane!', 'time': '19:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Haley White': 'Thank you, Diane!', 'time': '19:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nicki Nance': 'Such a lovely, poignant story.', 'time': '02:15 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Haley White': 'Thank you, Nicki!', 'time': '19:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Haley White': 'Thank you, Nicki!', 'time': '19:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Dana Whitmire': ""Haley, thank you so much for sharing this. She was such an amazing woman and it's true, she had a way of making everyone feel special (her favorite!). I miss her presence but her spirit lives on through the hearts she touched. I am so blessed that I was one of those. ❤"", 'time': '00:00 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Haley White': 'Me too!', 'time': '19:47 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Haley White': 'Me too!', 'time': '19:47 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,uo31mc,Twist,Mary Black,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uo31mc/,/short-story/uo31mc/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Drama', 'Sad']",8 likes,"
TwistClaire gunned the car up the hill, the road ahead gleaming in the moonlight, relieved to get away from Dave. She had sat there, seething, as he emptied most of a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen of their holiday cabin.‘Couldn’t help it, Claire. I fell in love.’His eyes were luminous with alcohol and regret. Claire had been gratified to see little wrinkles of irritation on her husband’s face, a sign the gloss was already coming off his mid-life office romance. He was most unattractive when he got drunk. Usually she would haul his slight form up to bed, but this time she had left him slumped on the table.Typical of her clueless mate to apologise for the impending catastrophe of Alice, while offering no solutions. He was a sucker for short-termism, and sex with his rather dull secretary—sweeping papers off his desk and fucking her on top of it—had no doubt been exciting, but imagine the sticky mess. Had he used wet wipes on the desk afterwards? Probably not. Dave never was one for clearing up after himself. Claire wanted to slap that little tramp Alice, but most of all, she wanted to wring Dave’s stupid neck. Stupid fucking Dave. The divorce would be ruinous. Sorry, my ass, thought Claire as she turned the corner and gravel spat upwards.The glint of an eye and a light brown shape arced from the side of the road and collided with the bumper. Thump. Claire slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt. She’d hit an animal, but what? A deer, most likely. This remote road saw little traffic, so the wild creatures were clueless about cars. She cautiously reversed back until she saw the humped form lying on the tarmac. She got out of the car a little unsteadily and walked over to the animal. A deer, front legs clearly broken, unable to move. Claire flopped down on the road beside it, wondering what to do. At that moment, the moon came out, and she stared into a limpid eye. It was like staring into a brown pool of water.‘Hush now,’ she said, touching the rough cheek with her forefinger. Then she moved closer and took the warm head onto her lap, cradling it.‘Are you in pain? You probably are, but in shock, too. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t see you coming.’She hadn’t seen Alice coming, either. Dave was a right dope, and they both knew it. Couldn’t keep it in his pants, the silly goose. His Ivy League colleagues would look askance at that smug bitch Alice arriving in her fucking fur coat to the law firm’s next Christmas party. They would smile knowingly behind his back. He would be just another one of those sad middle-aged men who fell for his secretary. Alice was no babe. Not hot at all, and quite dim. Claire was now sorry for poor old Dave. Yes, perhaps that was what the counselor called a resolution.The deer flinched and tried to get up, then stopped and panted. A trickle of blood came from its nose. Oh God, it was injured inside, too. And it smelt, a musty animal smell, feral, probably had fleas. They all did. She turned to the side and vomited onto the gravel, gagging as the puke spurted out.Dave had gone hunting on a corporate weekend and arrived back at the cabin with a dead deer. She had helped him carry it to the worktable in the garage. Dave had been strangely excited, his pasty city face wobbling with horrified glee. He had said it had been easy to finish the deer off after the shot that had dropped it—just a painless flick to the neck. So easy, and very humane. He had set to work and chopped away for a few hours, cleaned up the gore afterwards pretty well. Afterwards, they had a freezer full of high-quality lean meat—waste not, want not.‘Can I save you?’ Claire asked the deer, but there was no reply. ‘Probably not. I should put you out of your misery.’Claire could not imagine eating this deer. Not at all. This deer was special. But even special things get all used up. Served up on a plate, the life gone out of them. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of this. Claire wept for the poor deer, and also for the English country girl who had fallen in love with a dorky, sweet mathematics exchange student at Oxford University, married in white, looked forward to keeping a home and combining a part-time job with raising some children, although those children had never come. She shed tears for all those years when they had lived amicably. Claire wanted those familiar things. The stairs, she loved that way they meandered up the four floors of their townhouse, family pictures lined along the walls, carefully selected ornamental tables on each floor. She wanted to go home, but that was impossible for Dave had already left, and the townhouse and the cabin would be sold as part of the settlement. Her home would be slaughtered in divorce court, sliced and diced up, and given to someone else to consume.Damn, damn, damn.Something had to be done about this…situation. Claire ran her hand tentatively down the back of the animal and felt the knobs of its backbone, counting them like stairs, one, two three. When Dave had cut up his kill, he had insisted on using all of it. Nose to tail. Even the bones were ground into bone meal to use on the roses; Claire had helped with that part (and had also provided sustaining sandwiches and cold beer throughoutof how), surprised at how interesting it had been to hack the bones with a small axe into pieces small enough to poke into the grinder. Four, five, six. The roses had done so well. Their sex life had improved, too. That deer was perhaps their most successful collaboration. Seven eight nine…‘It’s the way of things. Life gets all get broken up, and then something new is born,’ said Claire to no one in particular.With the tips of her fingers, she continued up the line of bristles to the animal’s slim neck. Seven, eight, nine. Just here. An idea emerged, something simple, yet awful. Claire could go back to the cabin, put her hands around Dave’s neck, and twist. There would be a small crunch. She imagined dragging Dave out of the living room into the garage and methodically dressing his corpse. With a bit of help from Google and her experience of over 30 years of preparing a Sunday roast for that ungrateful son of a bitch, the rest would be easy. By morning, Claire would be long gone, the garage carefully cleaned, and no trace left, apart from several parcels of ‘venison’ buried in the bottom of the freezer. She could fake a note from Dave explaining his departure, plant a few clues that implicate Alice. But first, she would practice the twist. Claire patted her co-conspirator, the panting deer.Nah, that was all just ridiculous, the kind of thing that happened in cheap crime novels. In a corner of her brain, Claire was aware that she was dragging the corpse of her dreams around like a soiled security blanket. A small voice whispered that it was time to move on. Not a very loud voice at all, and clearly not used to being heard. A young, inexperienced voice, neither strong nor substantial. It sounded like the younger Claire who had happily followed her heart. And yet here she was, a middle-aged cast off with a half-dead, flea-ridden deer for company. As she sat, the silence was broken by a rustle or two from the undergrowth. Small, live things were scurrying there. Life, a web of separate dramas and secret disappointments, would carry on.‘Shh,’ she said, and patted the deer’s warm neck. ‘I’m going to fix this.’Claire got up with some difficulty and went back to her car. Keep things simple, nothing dramatic, no cutting up of corpses or filling freezers, or laying the blame on Alice, that was all just stupid. Only one thing mattered; the twist. After that, everything would fall into place. She rummaged around the glove compartment, pulled out her purse and flipped open the mirror, which had a handy internal light for makeup. She assessed the lined, blotchy face, tendrils of dampened blonde hair with darker roots, smudged mascara. She looked perfect: an upset woman that would stay with a pathetic wounded animal. Someone who would creep into her car, pull a rug around herself and fall asleep while waiting for assistance from the first morning traveler down this lonely road. Exactly what her phone and GPS coordinates would confirm. She took the Airtag tracker from its hiding place in the trunk and placed it beside her mobile under a prominent rock. Then she walked back to the waiting animal.‘Sorry, my love, but this has to be done.’The deer whined and began to struggle as Claire took a deep breath and wrenched the neck. Crunch, the deer lay still. That was easy—the creature looked so peaceful. She hauled the corpse to the side of the road with ease for it was a bit lighter than her husband. Then Claire got into her car, turned it around, and drove back to sort out poor, dear Dave.
","August 04, 2023 23:07","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Mary,\nThis was an intriguing take on the prompt. You managed to pack a ton into this piece. Some lines that stood out to me were when you talked about the children that would never come and the dead corpse of your protagonist’s dreams. I thought your thought process of Dave was interesting. It seems to me this character doesn’t really like her husband anymore. Her fear of the divorce stems from a loss of reputation, rather than the loss of her soulmate. It’s an interesting idea around infidelity and the institution of marriage. Nice work!!', 'time': '16:25 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Great title for this story! You had my interest from the start. You worked through Claire’s thoughts to keep me guessing what she would actually do. I like the ending and leaving it up in air.', 'time': '22:51 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Black': 'I did play with this  story and have Claire go back and butcher her husband, but in real life that would not happen. Probably.', 'time': '11:03 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,wjzp96,Interview in a Passenger Car,SJ Shoemaker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wjzp96/,/short-story/wjzp96/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Suspense']",8 likes,"
S: May I take this seat, friend?B: Yes. Yes. Of course. I’ll just move my ba—As I live and breathe.S: Well don’t stop on my account.B: Preston Strong in the flesh.S: Never leave the house without it.B: You’re Prestige, the Honorable Strongman.S: That’s me… [pause] about that seat.B: Yes, apologies. Here.S: Thank you.B: What brings you to my–this passenger car?S: It’s a tad embarrassing, but I suppose you seem trustworthy enough.B: Careful, I’m with the press.S: Well, friends close. Enemies closer.B: Ha, too true.S: Truth is, while I have unpierceable skin and super healing in abundance, I lack flight or super speed.B: Yes, I’m well acquainted with your abilities.S: Are you also acquainted with the ongoing alien invasion in New Aeon?B: I once again direct you to my press badge.S: Then let’s see if this reporter can piece the story together.B: You’ve been called in to help with the invasion.S: Major happening like this? They’re calling everyone in.B: And the other heroes who would typically give you a lift (literally) have their hands full.S: I wouldn’t dare ask them to stop their efforts just for me.B: Honorable as ever, Prestige. And no shame, rail travel is the most reliable transport in the nation. You’ll be there in no time.S: Much appreciated.B: [pause] You know, I have an admission of my own.S: Oh?B: We share a destination.S: Right, press. Which paper?B: Pinnacle Post. Heavy-hitting coverage of Pinnacle City’s heavy-hitters.S: It’s a catchy tagline.B: I was planning on arm-grabbing a hero or two after the invasion was dealt with, conducting a few post-victory interviews, but since we’re both here.S: Since we’re both here.B: Mind if I record?S: Be my guest. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.B: Peyton Bek. Nice to meet you again.S: That’s quite the hardware you’ve got. Never seen a prosthetic hand quite so… industrial.B: Built it myself. Machinery is a hobby of mine.S: When you’re not conducting hard-hitting interviews.B: You’d be surprised how time-consuming it can be.S: the job or the hobby?B: Both.S: I’m sorry, did you say again?B: Again?S: A moment ago. You said, “nice to meet you again”?B: We met once, believe it or not. Three years ago. The collapsed overpass near Cremont. Do you recall the incident?S: How could I forget? My first big outing.B: I was driving beneath on the 90 when I was crushed by the collapse. My arm was pinned against the dash. And you, well, you were stronger than human flesh.S: I’m sorry, Peyton. That was my first heroic act after the accident that made me Prestige. I was inexperienced. Didn’t know my own strength. Literally.B: Life is funny that way, isn’t it? I should have died. I only lost an arm.S: That’s a wonderful way of looking at it. Count your blessings.B: You should have died in your accident too, the story goes. You only gained powers, fame, and fortune.S: I have been blessed more than most.B: Life is funny that way.S: Is this what you wanted to interview me about?B: No, you’re right. Forget me and my fiancé. Again.S: My condolences, Peyton. But sometimes, even with all this power, it’s not possible to save everyone. Many died in the collapse.B: Do you fear your upcoming encounter with the aliens?S: Sorry?B: The interview, if you will. All reports are that these invaders are an extremely advanced race with telepathic powers.S: Nothing the Super Alliance hasn’t handled before.B: You don’t worry they may peer into the mind of you or your friends and discover your weakness?S: What? No, of course not. For that to be a concern, I’d have to have a weakness to exploit. Besides, every member of the Alliance is trained to mentally combat telepathic attacks.B: But not everyone completes their mandatory training, I hear. Blitz, for instance. Hard to keep that man in one place for more than a moment. Perhaps he found the training unstimulating and is therefore more mentally susceptible than the others.S: He signed a statement, the same as everyone in the Alliance.B: And heroes never lie?S: We are all still human, Mr. Bek. But this training is vital. He wouldn’t lie about this.B: Just like you wouldn’t lie about the accident that granted you powers?S: What is there to lie about?B: That’s what I’d like to know.S: I have told no lie.B: Glad to hear it, wouldn’t want to impugn your prestige. But there is this rumor going around the Five Cities.S: Rumor?B: Last month, Blitz was kidnapped and by all accounts tortured for days on end. Someone disabled his powers entirely.S: Yes, the Alliance has been fully apprised of the situation. I will not comment on it further.B: Yes, but what information could he have been tortured for?S: As I said, I will not comment on it further.B: Rumor is—Preston, Mr. Strong—that he told the supervillain mastermind during his torture that you were never part of a secret military experiment gone wrong. That instead, you created your power-filled wonder drug yourself.S: Did he, now?B: That is what’s being reported.S: By whom?B: Would that change your response?S: …I will not comment, regardless.B: It goes on to state that your powers are temporary. That all one has to do is wait until after a big battle, after you have exerted yourself and the drug is no longer in your system. And then, you could be crushed as easily as a young woman in the passenger seat.S: Good thing it is just a rumor, then.B: Yes, just a rumor. Good thing. Could you imagine what someone could do with such information were it true? Oh, my recorder has run out of tape. One moment while I change it out.S: Oh, look, we’re pulling into the station now. Not that this wasn’t pleasant, but–B: –you’ve got an alien invasion to deal with. No worries, Mr. Strong. I’m sure I’ll see you around after the battle.
","August 02, 2023 00:30","[[{'Kay Smith': ""This is so cleverly written! It's an easy, quickly-paced read and the dialogue is believable even if Mr. Strong's powers are clearly not. This was a fun piece to read! I enjoyed it!"", 'time': '14:48 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'SJ Shoemaker': ""Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed!"", 'time': '04:41 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'SJ Shoemaker': ""Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed!"", 'time': '04:41 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,p28mcx,Last Ride,Vincent Paiement Désilets,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p28mcx/,/short-story/p28mcx/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
 
           The road got bumpier as they sank deeper into the countryside and asphalt gave way to dirt. Enough to stir things up in George’s mind. The Jack Daniels had kept him quiet for a while. His hands and pants were sticky with it. He opened his mouth and turned toward Alan. A couple of seconds passed before the words came out. 
           “You think I did the right thing?” 
           Alan scanned his brother from the grass on his socks to the sweat pouring from his hairline, like low tide on an expanding white beach. He took one hand off the wheel to gesture as he spoke. 
           “Why would you ask a question like that?” he said. “If I agree with you, it won’t change anything, and if I don’t, it’ll mess you up even more.”
           “I just want to know what you think of all that.” 
           “It’s none of my business.”
           “I just made it your business.” 
           “Indeed, you did, George.”
           “Are you mad?” 
           “I really don’t give a shit.” 
           “Sorry I dragged you in all this.” 
           “I was bored anyway.” 
           George took another sip, offered one. Alan declined. 
           “Still,” George said, “I’d like to know what you think.”
           “I think the whole betrayal and cheating and breaking the mutual possession contract, that’s an ego thing. That’s expecting the world to synchronize with your insecurity. Ego-related problems are just noise people make in their heads. If you can take a step back and they disappear, then they’re not real problems.”
           “If I take a step back from that, I have nothing left. Our relationship was all I had that was worth a damn.”
           “You don’t lose the relationship when you take your ego out of the equation. You just stop worrying about the pointless stuff.” 
           “So me and her, that was pointless stuff?”
           Alan snorted. 
           “I hate it when people do that,” he said. “Focus on the last thing you said and forget the rest. You say more than ten words in a row and they can’t fucking process it. I don’t think you want my opinion, you’re just looking to blow off some steam.” 
           “Ah, don’t go all rattlesnake on me,” George said. “It’s just that… she was all I had that was worth a damn, you know?” 
           “Yeah, I know, you just said that.”
           “And you call it pointless stuff. Shit… some people care about other people, you know.” 
           Alan laughed. 
           “Maybe some people care a little too much,” he said. 
           George said nothing. 
           “Look,” Alan said, “she fucked guys before she met you, and she’d have kept doing it after.” He could feel George’s face turn red. “That’s what humans do.” 
           George pounded on the door.
	“Don’t you say things like that.” 
           “What are you, a gossip columnist? Who cares? Jesus, you should have bought her a chastity belt instead of a ring. Or a guard dog, and tied the leash around her waist.” 
           “I swear, when I learned about it, everything started shaking. I thought I was having a stress attack or something. So, pointless my ass.” 
           “That’s what taking a step back is all about. That’s my point. You would have stopped seeing her as your girlfriend or wife or houseplant or whatever the fuck she was and consider her as a being beyond your little relationship bubble.”
           A knock came from the back of the van. George jumped and looked over his shoulder. 
           “Everything’s fine,” Alan said. “It’s just the road being a bitch.”
           George took a sip. Alan too. 
           “How did you learn about it, anyway?” Alan said. 
           “I saw a message he sent her. Telling her to meet him at some restaurant.” 
           “That’s it?”
           “Ain’t that enough?”
           “Could have been a meeting for work. It’s a restaurant, not a hotel room.” 
           George gazed at the road. 
           “Shit… maybe you’re right,” he said. “Hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I did like you call it, over…”
           “Overreacting.” 
           “Yeah. It’s just that… who goes to a restaurant for work?” He tugged on the edge of his seat. His voice wavered. “I thought it was just for bankers, people in suits, that kind of thing. It means—”
           “No, you were right,” Alan said. “She was cheating on you.” 
           “You think?” 
           “I’m sure. That whore’s been blowing around like a fucking hurricane.” 
           “That’s a bit much…” He squeezed the bottle. “Oh Jesus… that was a mistake.” 
           Alan sighed. 
           “It’s a little too late to change your mind, don’t you think?” he said. 
           Alan knew his brother hadn’t thought things through, had seen red or blue or green, and was now poorly trying to deal with the mess he’d made. 
	George sipped air from the empty bottle. 
           “I should have waited,” he said. “Things could have turned good. People get nicer with time.” 
           “They don’t.” 
           “Our old man got nicer near the end.” 
           “That dog just became too weak to bite or bark. People get nice when they can’t fight anymore. It’s the last survival trick in the bag.”
           “Don’t talk about him like that.” 
           “Ah, cut it out. And you had it even worse than I did.”
           “He was still our father.” 
           “That’s not a valid argument.” 
           “Of course it is.”
           “We’re talking quality and you state a title. If we were debating whether or not strawberries taste good and I told you, ‘Well, it’s a fruit that we have in our backyard,’ would that be relevant?” 
           “Listen, I don’t feel like playing puzzles.” 
           “Let’s stop here. We’re far enough.” 
           Alan parked the van on the side of the road and they got out. He took out a flashlight and two shovels, handed one to George. There was moonlight, but no moon.
           As they walked into the woods, George looked back at the van. 
           “With what I gave her,” Alan said, “she’s out for a couple hours. Probably wasn’t even necessary with that blow she got on the head.” 
           They dug in silence. George shoveled twice as fast as Alan did. 
           “You don’t have to make it so large,” Alan said. George kept digging. 
           The hole done, they got back to the van and took Clara out. She was as limp as a corpse. George huffed and puffed, looked anywhere but down—at her face. Alan struggled to hold the legs and point the flashlight at the same time. 
           They threw her in the grave. 
           “Wanna do it?” Alan said. 
           “No,” George said. The abruptness of his answer took him aback. 
           Alan pulled out the gun. 
           “You’ve done that before, huh?” George said. 
           “You know I have. That’s why you called me.” 
           “Right. Shit. Sorry. I’m stressed, and when I’m stressed, I talk and I say anything.”
           Yeah, no shit, Alan thought. But he said, “Yeah, I understand.” 
           He shot Clara in the head. 
           George’s eyes watered. His voice cracked. 
           “That was kind of a dick move what we just did,” he said. “Shoot her while she’s passed out.” 
           “It sure would have been a lot sweeter if she’d been kicking and screaming.” 
           George made a series of wet sniffles that filled Alan with contempt. 
           “That’s what I meant by pointless worries,” Alan said. “She’s already gone. You’re beating yourself for nothing.” 
           He went to pick up the shovels. When he turned, George had one leg in the grave. 
           “What are you doing?” Alan said. “Did you drop your watch?” 
           George lay down in the hole, partly juxtaposing Carla’s body. 
           “Do you… need a moment alone?” Alan said. 
           “I’m ready, brother. I’ve had my share. Time to punch out.” 
           “Oh, that’s what’s happening…” He dropped the shovels. “Digging your way out, weren’t you?”
           Alan waited, but George stayed in. 
           “We could dig you another one.” 
           “No,” George said. “It’s a symbolic thing, I guess.” 
           “Alright.” 
           “I’m sorry for putting that on you. But please, do it.”
           “Oh, I gotta do it?” 
           “Just do like you did with Floppy. Think of me as a sick dog you have to put down.” 
           “Look George, that dog wasn’t really sick.”
           “What do you mean, he wasn’t sick? He was drooling like a waterfall and couldn’t walk. We had to carry him in the woods.” 
           “I fed it mothballs.” 
           George frowned, said:
           “Ah, who gives a shit? Be a good brother and blow my brains out.” 
           Alan stepped closer to the grave. 
           “That’s a huge step back, George.” 
           “Hurry up,” George said. “I’m getting dizzy. I don’t wanna die covered in puke.”
           He closed his eyes. 
           Alan aimed. 
           George sprang up. “Wait—”
	Alan shot. 
           George fell back. 
	Alan stayed still for a while. 
           “It’s over now, brother,” he said. “It’s all gone.”
","August 02, 2023 03:56","[[{'F. Mint': ""Hi, I enjoyed the dialogue, but I felt that there isn't enough of a backstory. It doesn't read like a complete story, but like a passage of something larger.\nI enjoyed the twist at the end, with George wanting to be shot and Alan actually complying, as if it was a normal thing to do. I'd need to know why that is."", 'time': '08:18 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks for the feedback. It is indeed a part of something larger.', 'time': '03:17 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks for the feedback. It is indeed a part of something larger.', 'time': '03:17 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kyle Sager': ""What a twist at the end, I really wasn't expecting that! You're really great with dialogue, it comes so naturally, the way the characters speak. Just from the way you write that, I can tell exactly what type of people they seem to be - pretty trashy (haha). I also liked the dynamic between the two, like I could really hear their voices. \n\nI think you could benefit from more scene description exploration between dialogue. Examine the character's thoughts as well, show us what they're feeling. Why did Alan so easily commit to shooting his own ..."", 'time': '21:36 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks for the feedback!', 'time': '03:17 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks for the feedback!', 'time': '03:17 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,wzi7fl,Right as Rain,Viktor Klimczyk,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wzi7fl/,/short-story/wzi7fl/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
	“I understand I should have been watching the road, but you gotta admit, the guy came in out of nowhere. Besides, who the hell decides to stroll around at night in this weather? There’s practically a goddamn monsoon raging,” says the driver. 
	The passenger nods meekly. 
	“You don’t think it’s my fault, do you?”
	The passenger’s head shakes.
	""I'm terribly sorry you had to experience that.""
	The passenger nods in response.
	""You must be distraught.""
	Another head shake. 
	“How’s he doing back there?” The driver frets.
	The passenger’s head swivels toward the backseat. The mass that is sprawled out back there is still. The mass is wearing a rain jacket, which coruscates blue glints of light. The passenger mutters something.
	“What? Speak up,” the driver urges.
	“I said he’s still wheezing.”
	“Is that so?”
	“Yes, quite steadily too.”
	“I don’t hear it.”
	“Get your hearing checked. He’s breathing.”
	“Fantastic. And you’re sure the hospital’s this way?”
	“Yes.”
	“You don’t think we should’ve just called an ambulance?”
	“No.”
	“Why not?”
	“No reception. Besides, this is faster.”
	“Well I’m barely controlling this car. It isn’t all that easy to gun it in this downpour.”
	“I know.”
	“With hardly a streetlight, too.”
	“I know.”
	“Who knows, maybe another guy is gonna be stumbling alongside the goddamn interstate and then BAM, we’ll have to stack him atop our other guest.”
	“Oh stop it.” 
	“Our little personal double-decker ambulance.”
	“I said stop.”
	“Maybe that’s how they do it over in London.”
	The passenger glares at the driver. The driver opens his mouth to continue, but shuts it upon second thought. A bump in the road sends the mass in the backseat rustling slightly on a bed of brochures and maps - placed there to minimize the drenching incurred by the addition of it. 
	“Always something,” the driver mumbles.
	No reply. 
	“Doesn’t something just always come up?”
	Nothing but rain in response. 
	“I mean, we’ve been planning this for months.”
	“Don’t be so selfish.”
	“Oh come on, I’m driving this guy to a hospital! At great risk to the both of us, might I add. I think I’m allowed to express my frustrations.”
	“Frustrations?”
	“Well, no. Just an observation. A joke really.”
	“Stop with the jokes.”
	“Oh stop being so uptight. Bit of levity won’t make the situation worse.”
	“I’m not in the mood.”
	“Oh, well. It’ll all work out. Jokes or not.”
	The driver picks at a hangnail with his teeth. He gropes for a cigarette on the console but instead sends a condom crinkling to the floor. He abandons the plan for a cigarette when he realizes the passenger is glaring at him. He looks at the passenger with fretful eyes that do not seem to fit onto his well composed countenance. His hand continues to traipse about the console. As he does so, a stick of Nicorette is produced from the passenger's pocket, peeled, and placed into the driver's mouth. His ambling hand then reroutes and rests atop the passenger’s thigh. He opens his mouth to say something but chews instead. 
	“We’ll get there. We still have the entire weekend ahead of us”, the passenger coos. 
	“Yes.”
	“After all, it's like that thing you say.”
	“If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death.” 
	“How fitting.”
	“It’s from Macbeth”, the driver declares ostensibly. He ponders, then continues, “There is one thing to remember, however. You have to bring him into the hospital by yourself. “
	“Why?”
	“If anybody recognizes me there- God, I can’t imagine the scandals.”
	“Oh, of course.” 
	“God, I really don’t need any of this right now, to be honest”, he blurts, chewing the Nicorette feverishly.
	“It’ll be alright.”
	“Are you sure he’s…”
	“Yes.”
	“He looked pretty rough…”
	“He’ll hold out. He's a tough one.”
	""You think so?""
	Rain occupies a gap in conversation. The driver hazards a glance at the mass in the backseat. He probes it cautiously and sees that it doesn’t stir. Satisfied, the driver instructs in a hush, “You know what to say right? You just go in there, say you found this guy, hit by a car, lying in the middle of the road. You say ‘Barely saw him there, ma’am, what a stroke of luck! What providence! Dragged the sack of potatoes into my car and rocketed straight over here.’ The rain undoubtedly washed the blood off our car, so no worry there. Our bumper looks fine. This guy was out cold from the impact,” he continues, gesturing toward the backseat, ” He won’t know it was us that hit him. You’re the good samaritan, no headache for us and everyone’s happy. Right?”
	The passenger cracks a knuckle, perturbed.
	“I don’t know, that sounds scary. What if I can’t do it? Well, why don’t you do it? You’re the actor here. You’d do it better and everyone will adore you. It won’t look bad at all.”
	“No. Think. It’ll be all over the news. Actor turned hero. When my wife sees the news, she might think, ‘gee I wonder what he’s doing in Colorado considering he told me he was in L.A shooting that stupid goddamn superhero flick!’ No, you see that it won’t work. You have to do it.”
	The passenger nods, crosses one leg over the other, in the process displacing the driver's resting hand. 
	In a softer tone he keeps pressing, “In fact, I know you can do it. You’re good at almost everything you do. I have faith in you. And look, I hope everything turns out well. I wish him a full recovery. We’re doing everything we can. You do know plenty of people- the very thought enrages me- would have just abandoned him out on the side of the road. Sick people. We’re taking a great risk to save his life. Why should we ruin our lives in the process?” 
	“I suppose you’re right. You do have an excellent way of putting it.”
	“And I’ll be right outside in the car. It won’t take you very long at all. You’ll see it isn’t so bad.”
	The buzz of precipitation subjugates all other noise in the car. Then:
	“How’s he doing back there?” the driver inquires.
	“Oh but he’s crazy.”
	“What do you mean?”
	“Oh but don’t you hear him?”
	“What now?”
	Twisting, the passenger calls “No, sir. We cannot let you out. Why, you need to go to the hospital.”
	“He won’t consent? What’s the matter, he don’t got insurance?” The driver wisecracks.
	“Stop it, he’s trying to say something.” 
	“But why does he insist on leaving?”
	“He won’t say.”
	“He must be delirious.” 
	“Tends to happen when one is hit by a car”, the passenger seeths. 
	“Hey, that wasn’t my fault… Well, it was. But you can hardly blame me. Well, you can. But-”
	“Quiet.”
	“What?”
	They exert their ears.
	“He’s gone silent.”
	“Check if he’s still breathing.”
	“Oh, but can’t you hear his wheezing? It is so terribly loud after all.”
	“Wheezing?”
	“How couldn’t you? It’s enough to drive one mad.”
	“Oh yes, there it is. Now I hear it. Why, I can even see his chest rising and falling from the rearview mirror.”
	“Perhaps he’s come to his senses after all. He’ll be thanking us at the hospital.”
	“Kissing our feet even!”
	“Oh, and there it is, the hospital! You see?”
	“Speak of the devil. You’re right!”
	“I believe ‘such calms’ are now blowing our way!” The passenger cheers.
	“Yet the storm rages on”, the driver looks to the sky.
	“But we’ll miss the exit, slow down!”
	The heap of flesh and bones, its dented head, slides off the seat and thumps onto the floor of the car. Its twisted ears are now incapable of hearing the same screeching brakes they heard a half hour ago. Its severed tongue is still held tight in the lips of its locked jaw, eternally unable to reproduce the cry it sent decaying into the thundering skies.
 
","August 05, 2023 00:27","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'Oh, what a haunting tale Viktor! Good first submission. :) Keep writing!', 'time': '18:07 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Viktor Klimczyk': 'Thank you, I appreciate it.', 'time': '19:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Viktor Klimczyk': 'Thank you, I appreciate it.', 'time': '19:45 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,c6m19s,Shell Mound,Molly Jarrard,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/c6m19s/,/short-story/c6m19s/,Dramatic,0,"['Lesbian', 'Romance', 'Happy']",8 likes,"
The afternoon sun was high in the sky and the concentrated ray beating down on my thigh through the passenger window was becoming uncomfortably warm despite the best effort of the car's air conditioning. I rubbed the spot with my hand, but it does nothing to aleviate the sting. A state park sign reading ""Shell Mound"" with an arrow pointing west whizzed by. Eyes wide, my head snapped to the side to see if Sarah saw it. Sensing that my alarm for weird and stupid stuff had been activated, she laughed to herself. Without even looking in my direction she veered west and nodded. ""Oh, we have to see what the hell that is."" ""Right?!"" Passing houses on stilts and acres and acres of farm land, we finally see proof that we didn't imagine the sign. She looks at me in a series of short glances, the way someone does when they're trying to drive and make eye contact at the same time. ""Shell Mound, 12 miles. What do you think? We've come this far."" ""Keep going. Hey, did you send me that selfie you took this morning before we left?"" ""Yeah. I texted it to you.""I check to see if my phone has a signal and open the picture. ""Holy filter, Sarah! Can I have the unedited version?""""I just tweaked it a little."" She sounds defensive but I can see the tightness in her jaw and I know shes trying not to smile. ""A little. Yes. I see that. Your skin wasn't that smooth 10 years ago.""""Come on, Heather. It's not that bad. The lighting made me look like an old sea hag, but you looked so happy and it made me smile so I wanted to keep it, so I was just trying to, you know...even things out a little."" She's only 7 years older, but it's enough time for her to reach milestones before me. The first to see lines on her face, the first to notice a gray hair here and there, and most recently, the first hot flash. She's self conscious about it, but there's no reason to be; she only gets more beautiful with the passage of time. More sophisticated, more elegant, experience tempering that youthful passion with wisdom and patience. She has the kind of beauty you have to earn with years.""No, it's not obvious at all. Sometimes one person in a photo is just blurry for no reason. It's like red eye. It just happens. "" By now both of us are giggling. She narrowed her eyes, feigning outrage. ""Why dont you shut your whore mouth?"" ""That's not what you said this morning.""""Really? That's where you want to take it?"" God, her smile is beautiful. I love the way little faint crows feet soften her stunning eyes. ""I mean, you were pretty much saying the opposite..."" She smirked and bit her lower lip, sighing. ""I do love hearing you scream.""I smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. ""I'm aware."" She nodded at a gate and pulled onto a dirt road next to a state park sign. It was rutted and bumpy, but the gnarled trees covered in Spanish moss that hung over the road made it look so magical I hardly noticed. On the left side of us was a sheer cliff of black sand with live oaks and palm trees sprouting from the top in all directions. On the left was an expanse of level forest thick with palmetto bushes and lanky pine trees. The light dappled the forest floor, shining through the foliage in clean, slanted columns. The pattern reminded me of laser beam boobytraps in silly action films. ""Heather? Will you still love me when I'm old and wrinkly?""Without looking away from the view, I distractedly answered, ""Sarah, I would still love you if you were just a head on a little rolly stool."" The car swerved as laughter stole her breath and I couldn't stop my own from bursting out. She recovered before we ran head on into the dirt wall. Still grinning, she puts her hand on my thigh. ""So where do you think this shell mound is?""""I'm not even sure what we're looking for. I mean, is it just a big, unusually impressive pile of shells some kid dumped out of a bucket or maybe something made out of shells?"" Then I notice it. The wall of dirt. I point. ""Oh, ok. Look where it's washed out. It's all shells under the top soil. It's this whole thing, I bet. We're driving around it.""Sarah slows down and looks where I'm pointing. ""Huh. You think so? So we took a 50 mile detour to drive around a big dirt hill with trees on it?"" ""Yeah, apparentky so. I mean, why else would there even be a big hill here? We're near the ocean. Everything here is below sea level. It's flat. Like your chest.""She looks at me, her lips parted in disbelief, but her eyes are sparkling and a suppressed smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. ""Low hanging fruit, my friend."" ""Well, not yours, anyway.""My name bubbles out of her, riding on peels of laughter. ""Heather!""I return her grin. ""Hey, the gloves came off when you called me a whore."" She nods. ""Fair enough."" Having completely circumvented the mound, she pulls to a stop where the park meets the highway and she turns to face me, amusement washed across her face. ""Hey, Heat?""I look at her. Her icy blue eyes penetrate my physical body, making me shiver in spite of the sun still trying to burn a hole through my thigh. God, how does she still do that? ""Yeah?""She touches my face so softly that it feels more like a whispered secret than a caress. ""You're my favorite person. There's no one I'd rather be with right now...ever, really."" For just a moment I can't breathe, then she releases my gaze, gently tucking a stray curl back into my ponytail. Smiling she puts the car in gear and pulls out onto the road. ""Let's get out of here, its hotter than the devil's taint."" Giggling, I pull her free hand into my lap and lace my fingers through hers. 
","July 28, 2023 18:59",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,l2wm7w,The Open Door,Robert W,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l2wm7w/,/short-story/l2wm7w/,Dramatic,0,['Mystery'],8 likes,"
THE OPEN DOOR
It happened 40 years ago, but the memory remains fresh in my mind. A newly-qualified young barrister, living in South Wales, I was on my way to Tredegar Magistrates Courts in the Rhondda Valley for a contested motoring case. I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of the day ahead of me. Like all young tyros, I liked to win, and the case I had studied the night before was a clear loser. The client was irrationally clinging to hope against what appeared to be overwhelming evidence. He was not alone in that, by any means, but it was a bit exasperating nonetheless. 
I had his telephone number, and had rung him just before I left home in order to clear up one or two points, and also perhaps to prepare him for the worst. I had let the phone ring for what seemed an age, but nobody had picked up at the other end.  In the end, I had given it up as a bad job, and left for court. No mobiles then, of course.
Naturally superstitious, I had seen only single magpies along the route. Although the weather was sufficiently clement for me to have the driver’s side window open, storm clouds overhead threatened heavy rain later in the day. My elderly Austin 1100, normally a reliable little bus, had developed what could best be described as a nervous tic. I could see all the signs of a lousy day in store.
The road I was travelling was the B-est of B roads, with a single lane in each direction, lined on both sides as far as the eye could see by houses which had been built by artisans who clearly believed that front gardens were an unnecessary luxury. Almost without exception, the front doors opened directly onto the road. That might not have been a problem in the days of superannuated horses who could barely manage a trot. It must have been a nightmare to the present inhabitants with modern vehicles, especially the rather large lorries that came out of the steel works at Ebbw Vale. No doubt, they had evolved. They must have become pretty agile over the years, and a bit deaf.
I was bowling along at about 50 mph when I rounded a corner to see a sight that chilled my blood. There were cars parked on the opposite side of the road outside a small shop, effectively blocking the carriageway to my off-side. Heading towards me was a 40 tonne articulated lorry, whose driver had pulled out completely onto my side of the road to overtake those cars. Neither of us had more than a few seconds to react. We both braked heavily. I could clearly hear the hiss of his air-brakes. My tyres squealed their protest and the car vibrated violently, jack-knifing slightly from side to side. A collision seemed inevitable. 
Strange are the thoughts that invade the mind at such moments. I can remember very clearly thinking that my mother had warned me to wear clean underwear in case I had an accident, although some instinct persuaded me that, at that very moment, it probably wasn’t going to make a lot of difference anyway. I realised that I might be a bit late getting to court, and I would miss the squash court I had booked for that evening. The three letters “OMG” went through my head in a manner of disbelief. Then, quite suddenly, I spotted to my left a gap in the solid line of stone masonry. Steering violently to my near-side, with literally inches to spare, I drove into that gap. 
I had no idea what waited at the other side. For all I knew, my eyes might simply have deceived me, and I could find myself impacting with the solid wall, and being crushed between it and the lorry - not much of an improvement on the full frontal collision I was trying to avoid. It was an act of pure instinct, the similar sort of feeling our cavemen ancestors must have had when they encountered their first Woolly Mammoth, when “fight or flight” was the order of the day, and I had no illusions whatsoever about a contest between my fragile little saloon car and a 40 tonne truck. However, against all the odds, I found I had bought a ticket for the lottery, and won the jackpot. It was a double garage, and, at some time in the long distant past, its owner had decided to demolish the back wall. As if to compensate for the absence of any frontage to the house it served, the back-yard was a substantial 100 yards in length, so that I had time and space to brake in a moderately decorous manner, coming to a dead halt barely two feet away from the hill-side. 
I sat there, shaking slightly. I glanced into my rear-view mirror. I thought I could see the truck thundering by, and the startled, ashen face of the driver glancing in my direction. Perhaps it was my imagination. It had all happened so quickly. In any event, he didn’t come back. I didn’t blame him. But I could well have understood what he was thinking. There would have been difficult answers to give to searching questions if there had been a collision. However, those answers wouldn’t have come from me. I would have been dead. As it was, I had been the subject of a miraculous escape.
Still trembling, I knocked at the door of the adjoining house to explain my sudden appearance to the owner. There was nobody to be seen. There didn’t seem to be any alternative to getting back on the road. I still had a case to fight. I inched my way out of the garage and back onto the road again. The Magistrates Court seemed to be a place of sanctuary. I had left home with plenty of time to spare, so I was well on time. 
To my surprise, the case had been a shoo-in.  The star witness for the prosecution had turned out to be a supernova, burning out almost the moment he entered the witness-box. Unexpectedly quickly, both the client and I were in a position to leave court. By that time, the promised torrential rain had begun. I wasn’t looking forward to the drive home, but the client had a problem of his own. 
“My wife has the car,” he explained, somewhat glumly. “To be honest, I didn’t expect to be able to drive away from court, so I took a taxi. It cost me an arm and a leg.  She was going out shopping with some friends.” 
I took the hint. “I’ll give you a lift home,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t expect to be able to drive away from court either.” I explained about my lucky escape as I drove out of town, following his directions. He made appropriate noises of surprise and wonderment. 
“Where did you say it was?” he asked.  
“It was along this road,” I replied. For, with something of a sense of déjà vu, I found myself recognising the way we were heading, saw the now familiar shop on the corner, and the houses to left and right, and the same solid, uninterrupted vista of beige masonry. But this time, I looked in vain for the gap in the stone-work that had given me sanctuary earlier in the day.
“You were bloody lucky!” he exclaimed. “Somebody up there must have been looking after you.” I laughed, and agreed. “I’ll have to tell the wife when I see her tonight. She’ll like that story. There she is,” he added, with a note of surprise. I could see a lady standing at the side of the road beside a car parked outside a house I thought I recognised. As we came to a halt, she gave a slightly guilty start, as if she had been caught out in some misdemeanour. 
“Oh, hello, Dai” she said, her Welsh lilt unmistakable. “I didn’t realise you would be home so soon.”
“I thought you were going out shopping with your butties,” responded my client. His tone suggested that perhaps he had been hoping for an hour or two of peace and quiet. 
“Oh, we went.” she said. “I’ve left Betty and Myfanwy in town. They are waiting for me. But I had to come back.”
My client made a sound of exasperation. “Bloody ‘ell!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean you did it again?”
She looked shame-faced, and started gabbling slightly. “Oh yes, I am sorry. But it really wasn’t my fault this time.” My client glanced briefly in my direction, with a slightly sardonic grin. ‘What excuse is she going to come up with this time?’ was clearly written all over his face.
“No, really, now,” she protested. “Some stupid bugger rang up this morning as I was outside, ready to leave. I didn’t hear it immediately, and I had to get back into the house. Just as I got to the phone, he rang off. I was that annoyed and confused, and I was rushing to pick up the girls, I totally forgot to close the garage doors.”   
 
 
","August 02, 2023 13:27",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,aq5pvz,Bitten By A Mouse,JJ Pryce,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/aq5pvz/,/short-story/aq5pvz/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],8 likes,"
“Don’t cry, sweetie. We’re going to the zoo, remember? You’ll love all the animals there. And I hear they have your favourite – meerkats!”
 
I had just woken up in the back of Uncle Luke’s smelly, old truck, but I didn’t recognise it initially. The stench of cigarettes and rust forming around the window edge gave it away. In any case, Auntie Nina’s soothing voice calmed me down a little. I wiped the tears away from my cheeks, but a few continued to fall as I tried to relax. I often get sad when I first wake up, especially in strange places.
 
“The zoo?” I asked Auntie Nina.
 
“Yes, sweetie. Don’t you remember mummy telling you that’s where Uncle Luke and I were taking you today?”
 
As we whizzed along the busy road, I gazed out the backseat window to see nothing but trees and fields. I hate the fast roads. They make me feel sick watching everything go past so quickly. I usually sleep through long car journeys with my family.
 
“Shut her up, will ya?” Uncle Luke huffed as I struggled to control my sobbing.
 
I don’t know Uncle Luke very well. Auntie Nina has been friends with my mummy for a long time now – since before I was born, Mummy always says. I love Auntie Nina because she always plays games with me when she babysits. I don’t think she’s my real auntie, like Auntie Louise, Daddy’s sister, but I’ve always called her Auntie Nina, and since she’s been bringing Luke over to our house, I’ve been calling him Uncle Luke.
 
“I know, why don’t we play a car game? You like those,” Auntie Nina said.
 
Uncle Luke looked at her, scowled and muttered something under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out.
 
“What kind of game?” I asked as my tears began to dry and flake on my cheeks.
 
“Well, let’s think.” Auntie Nina put her forefingers to her temples and pretended to push firmly as she squinted her eyes tight and tried to think of a game. She could usually make me laugh, and she hadn’t failed this time.
 
“How about The License Plate Game? Or I Spy, maybe? No, no! I’ve got it!”
 
I laughed out loud as Auntie Nina became super animated and swivelled almost 180 degrees around in her seat to look at me.
 
“Let’s play 20 Questions! You love that game.”
 
I couldn’t argue with her; I do like 20 Questions. No one can ever guess my ones because I choose characters from TV shows I know they don’t watch. I do that when I play with my brothers because they never want to watch the shows I like. Serves them right.
 
“So, what do you say, Mouse? Wanna play?”
 
Mouse. That made me want to cry again, but I held it back as best I could. That’s what my daddy always calls me. My real name is Charlotte, or Charlie if you’re my horrible big brother, but most people call me Mouse. My daddy says it’s because of my hair colour, but I don’t understand that. My pet mouse has grey fur, not brown. I like the name, though, so I don’t complain about it. As well as my pet mouse, Gerry, we also have a pet dog called Bongo at home. He’s my favourite pet. I called him Bongo because I think it’s a funny word, and it makes me smile to say it out loud over the park. Daddy bought Bongo as a present for Mummy, but she let me name him because she knew that was the present I wanted, and it made me sad that she got him instead of me. He’s more my dog than Mummy’s because he always sleeps on my bed at night. Plus, I get to feed him. Well, I give him my dinner when I don’t want it. Mummy feeds him dog biscuits, which are usually an ugly brown colour and smell funny, but I don’t think Bongo likes them much, so I give him human food. Daddy says he’s fat now because of me. I love my daddy so much. He’s a fireman, so his job is to put out fires and save people. He’s big and strong, so I think that’s an excellent job for him. I’d want him to be the one who rescued me if I were in a fire because I know he would be the best at it. I wish I got to see Daddy more, but I don’t mind if he’s out saving people who need his help. He’s always home for dinner and reads me stories at bedtime. My favourites are the ones he makes up himself because they’re always about superheroes. Sometimes, I play with him on weekends, too, although he’s usually at football with my older brother, Marcus. I hate Marcus. He’s 12 years old and much bigger than me, and he always takes things out of my room and hides them. He says it’s for fun, but I don’t find it much fun. I quite like my younger brother, George. He’s only four, so he can be a bit of a baby sometimes, but he enjoys most of the same games as me. And he even understands a lot of them now. We play hide and seek quite a lot, but I have to choose really simple hiding places, like behind a door; otherwise, he gets upset when he can’t find me. I don’t mind letting him win, though.
 
My favourite person is my mummy. She’s always at home and likes to do things with me, rather than the boy stuff. Boys seem to enjoy things like rolling in mud and getting dirty. We don’t do that. I think Mummy has a job, but I don’t know what it is. She says she works from home when we’re at school, something to do with her computer, but I never see her working. I don’t think she would lie about that, though. Mummy never lies. Our favourite thing to do together is drawing and colouring in, and we also enjoy making up stories about strangers we see outside. Mummy’s not as good at making up stories as Daddy, but hers are funnier.
 
After playing 20 Questions, me and Auntie Nina also played the other games she had suggested earlier. We didn’t play I Spy for very long because Uncle Luke got mad at us again. He kept telling us to keep the noise down, so Auntie Nina climbed into the backseat with me so we could be a bit quieter. She must love Uncle Luke loads because she always does what he asks her. I think he sounds a bit mean sometimes, but Auntie Nina says that’s just how he is. I got to go last for our final game of I Spy. I always try to find things in the car because they don’t move like the things outside. When I asked Uncle Luke to have a turn, he got mad at Auntie Nina and said she was an idiot for thinking this was a good idea. I don’t know why he was coming along if he didn’t like the zoo. When he shouts at her, she always looks down at her feet and keeps quiet, like when my daddy tells me or my brothers off for being naughty. I don’t think Auntie Nina is naughty. Because I had wanted Uncle Luke to play with us, I picked something related to him. He wore his usual rugged baseball cap, ripped jeans, and a plain white, dirty t-shirt. I thought his clothes were too obvious, so I chose his beard. When Auntie Nina was struggling with the letter B, I helped her out and said it was something brown with grey speckles. She looked even more confused by that, but I thought she’d get it because she must see it all the time. When she couldn’t guess, she gave up and I told her what it was. Uncle Luke shouted at Auntie Nina and me this time. I don’t know why. I think he’s just in a bad mood today. He keeps scowling and shifting in his seat, and he’s barely spoken throughout the whole journey. When he shouted at Auntie Nina in the backseat, she didn’t look down at her feet as much, not like she did when she was in the front seat, but she still wouldn’t look directly at him. Instead, she looked at me and smiled. It was one of those fake smiles, but it still made me feel better. It felt like we were a team back here. I think she feels stronger with me here next to her. I certainly do with her.
 
I’ve never been to the zoo before. I don’t think I’ll be coming back anytime soon because it’s extremely far away from home. The sun was setting outside, and I was getting a little chilly. Auntie Nina gave me one of Uncle Luke’s old jumpers to wear, but he didn’t want to me have it, so she took her lovely bright pink cardigan off and gave me that. Uncle Luke opened the window to have another cigarette, which I hate because they always smell disgusting, and Auntie Nina asked him to close it because she was cold. I felt terrible about wearing her cardigan and tried to give it back.
 
“No, sweetie, you keep it. I’ll be okay,” she said.
 
I leaned over as much as I could with my seatbelt on and gave her a cuddle. I always feel warmer when Mummy cuddles me.
 
“I’ve had just about enough of you two today,” Uncle Luke yelled. “I don’t want to hear another word until we get there!” He didn’t close the window, even after finishing his smelly cigarette.
 
I woke up sometime later when it was pitch-black outside.
 
“Are we still going to the zoo, Auntie Nina?”
 
Uncle Luke glared into his rear-view mirror, and Auntie Nina looked back at him briefly with crinkled eyebrows before turning to me. I didn’t want to make her mad as well, so I put my head back in her lap rather than wait for a response. I’d never seen Auntie Nina get angry, and I didn’t want to now either. Once she’d come into the back of the truck with me, she didn’t seem to listen to Uncle Luke as much. I liked that.
 
“It took us longer than we thought to get here, sweetie, so we’ll go tomorrow instead, but we can stay at a nice, posh hotel tonight. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”
 
I tried to return her smile. I didn’t feel too good now. I was tired and hungry and wanted to go home. I began sobbing again. Auntie Nina looked up at Uncle Luke as he glared at me in the mirror. That look made me uneasy, so I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Just before I drifted off again, Uncle Luke looked back at the road as Auntie Nina continued staring at him. I didn’t know what she was thinking at that moment, but he seemed to understand.
 
When I next awoke, it was to Auntie Nina shouting from outside the car. I’ve never heard Auntie Nina yell before. Her voice was shaky but still had a great strength to it. I wish Uncle Luke would go home, then me and Auntie Nina could go to the zoo with Mummy. Uncle Luke grabbed her by both arms. That frightened me, so I sat up abruptly and banged on the truck window. They both turned and looked at me. Auntie Nina’s eyes were red and puffy, and her make-up had smeared under her eyes.
 
“Can I call my mummy now?”
 
Uncle Luke started yelling at me again. When he said I couldn’t call my mummy and would never see her again if I didn’t shut up, I wanted to burst into tears, but I knew I had to be brave. Auntie Nina was standing behind him, bent in half like she was about to be sick. If Uncle Luke was shouting at me, he wasn’t hurting her, so I pouted as hard as I could and stared straight at him. He stared back, but I wasn’t going to lose this one. My brothers had never won a game of stare against me, so I was sure I could beat Uncle Luke, especially through a window. Before we could finish our game of stares, Auntie Nina took hold of his arm and spun him around towards her. He hit her across the face with one loud crack, and she flew back onto the overgrown roadside grass. I scrunched my knees up into my chest and pressed my face hard against them so I didn’t have to watch. I heard several loud thudding noises and more muffled arguing. I’ve never liked arguments, so I put my fingers in my ears and tried to block it out. That’s what I do when Mummy and Daddy argue. I really wish my mummy and daddy were here right now. I bet my daddy could save Auntie Nina. I’m too small to help. It’s not because I’m frightened or anything; I’m just too small.
 
“This was your idea! We can’t take her home now!” Although Uncle Luke often raised his voice, I barely recognised his bellow this time. I hoped he wasn’t talking about me. I desperately wanted to go home.
 
“I made a mistake! Let’s just go back and tell them it was a misunderstanding.” Auntie Nina was crying.
 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nina! We’re not turning back now. You said we could keep her, so that’s what we’re doing.”
 
Another loud thud came shattering through. And then silence. I sat as still as possible with my head buried deep between my legs and waited. All I could hear was my breathing, now appearing louder than I thought possible. The more I tried to quieten it, the louder it seemed to get. After what felt like ages, the car door opened. I held my breath and froze. I could sense a figure standing next to me, and I just wanted to disappear. I dare not look.
 
“Mouse?”
 
Barely able to hear Auntie Nina’s whisper, I gradually lifted my head to check it was her. One of her eyes was now half closed and black. The cheek on the same side was twice the size of the other one, and blood was pouring down from her nose into her mouth. I couldn’t see Uncle Luke. Auntie Nina beckoned me out of the car, but I couldn’t move. She reached in and grasped hold of my leg. I didn’t budge.
 
“Mouse? Mouse, look at me.” The urgency in Auntie Nina’s voice made me lift my head. Tears streaming down my face and hers battered and bruised, I could barely make out her features.
 
“Mouse! You have to get out of the truck. Now!”
 
I didn’t know what to do. My body didn’t want to move, and I couldn’t think clearly. Auntie Nina pulled on my leg until I slid along the backseat towards the door. As I got close enough for her to reach me, she held my hands and pulled me to my feet outside. The damp grass brushed against my ankles and the mud squelched underneath my shoes. There weren’t many cars on the once-busy road now. I heard one go past at that moment, but I didn’t see it. I was fixed on Auntie Nina’s bloodied face. Even though it looked like it hurt, she managed to smile and gently stroked my cheek to wipe the tears away. She must have seen the look on my face as I glanced over her shoulder because she spun around and hid me behind her back. Uncle Luke was on the floor coming out of what appeared to be a nap, although I’m not sure why he’d be sleeping on the muddy grass. One long stream of blood trickled down the side of his face from the top of his head onto his t-shirt. Before he could stand up properly, Auntie Nina turned back towards me and squeezed me so tight I winced.
 
“Run, Mouse,” she whispered.
 
I gazed vacantly at her, unsure of what to do. Uncle Luke grabbed her by the waist and threw her onto the floor. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and in an instant, my body became unstuck.
 
“Run, Mouse!”
 
The shrill of my Auntie Nina’s voice meant I didn’t need telling a third time. I turned away from them and ran as fast as my little legs would allow me. I looked behind me; no one seemed to be following. After a short time, I could no longer see Auntie Nina or Uncle Luke, only darkness. I just kept running.
","August 05, 2023 01:38","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'Such a sad story. It flowed well and you made the scenes come to life though! Welcome to Reedsy JJ.', 'time': '02:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'JJ Pryce': ""I'm glad the emotion of the story came through, and thank you so much for your kind words :)"", 'time': '14:15 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'JJ Pryce': ""I'm glad the emotion of the story came through, and thank you so much for your kind words :)"", 'time': '14:15 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,dbszdw,Salt & Pepper,DeBorah Evans,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dbszdw/,/short-story/dbszdw/,Dramatic,0,"['African American', 'Adventure', 'Christian']",8 likes,"
SALT & PEPPER 
(No, not the singing group)
 
We would have never met if my bus had been on time. Her name was Pepper. She needed me just as much as I needed her.
 
My agency had called mid-morning to let me know I had an assignment. Temp Legal Assistant jobs were growing more and more scarce after 911. People were afraid to hire new employees just in case the United States became a target again.
 
Excitedly and hurriedly, I dressed and practically lost my wind scurrying to the neighborhood bus stop in Atlanta. Unlike Michigan, Atlanta's transit system, MARTA, was pretty reliable, but such was not the case this day. I paced back and forth and forth and back while waving and speaking to the occasional neighbor out running their morning errands.
 
After an hour had passed, I was at my wits end and had no solution for getting to work on time. The ride was too long to take a taxi, and Uber and Lyft did not exist in those days. Suddenly, a car with a young woman behind the wheel came speeding down Memorial Drive at break-neck speed. She slammed on her brakes in just enough time to avoid hitting the car parked a few feet in front of the bus stop. If I were a detective, my first observation would have been that this vehicle had no air conditioning because all four windows were rolled down as far as they could go. It was summer time in the ATL, and whatever the numbers were on the thermometer, let us just suffice it to say that scrambling an egg on the sidewalk was not out of the realm of possibility. Peering into the open windows of the vehicle, there behind the steering wheel sat a beautiful young woman with the face of an angel! It was a panic-stricken and extremely anxious appearing angel, but an angel-face nonetheless! 
 
Speaking at the speed of light, I was able to make out that this angel-faced young woman was lost and, as she spoke, apparently in dire need of finding a gas station. I began giving her directions to the nearest gas station as fast as I could. She seemed confused and unable to comprehend my directions. In that instant I had a brainstorm. I asked her if she would take me to the train station in exchange for me showing her how to get to the nearest gas station. She screamed, ""C'mon, jump in!"" Being a street minister and having a very close relationship with the Lord, I discerned absolutely no danger from taking a ride with this young woman.
 
No sooner than I jumped in the car and she pulled away from the curve, I began to pray. I heard the Holy Spirit say to me, loud and clear, ""Fasten your seatbelt, this is going to be a roller coaster ride!""
 
So grateful to be rescued from the heat and the bus that just would not come, I began the conversation by thanking my driver for the ride. Politely introducing myself to her, I said, ""Hi, my name is DeBBie!"" She said, softly, ""Hi DeBBie, my name is Pepper!"" Suddenly, without warning, like shifting a sports car non-stop from first to fifth gear, through raging tears, Pepper started to gush out her personal struggles. Without taking a single breath, Pepper said, ""I have been up all night getting high. I am a crack addict. I left my three children with my mother, and I should have picked them up yesterday evening. DeBBie, my mother is so good to me, and she does not deserve the way I treat her!” Thank God not only was my car seatbelt fastened, my emotional and spiritual seatbelts were also fastened tight.
 
By the time Pepper ended sharing her woes, we had arrived at the closest gas station. It was fairly obvious she did not have much money because crack addicts usually don't! I'm sure, like the prodigal son, all of her money had been spent on wine, men, and getting high, so I offered to put gas in her tank in exchange for the ride. She was so wounded, so hurt, but yet, so kind, gentle, and sincerely grateful. As I stepped out to pay for and pump the gas, it gave Pepper a little time to compose herself.
 
Once we were able to get back on the road with no fear of being stranded due to an empty tank, I was able to minister to Pepper, and she was listening. As we pulled up to the train station, which was not far from where we had gotten the gas, it was time to share. Led by the unction and direction of the Holy Spirit, I began to pour the love of Jesus into Pepper's wounded soul the best way I knew how. 
 
""Pepper"", I began, ""I know it sounds cliche, but honey, God loves you more than you will ever know. I was on the side of the road running extremely late for work while waiting on a bus that refused to come. Just when I thought all was lost, God sent you to barreling down the street to rescue me. But Pepper, God also sent me to rescue you! We both had what the other one needed. Sweetheart, I am going to pray for you right now. I will continue to pray for you for the rest of my life because this is I day I will never forget! Whatever you do, do not condemn yourself. What is happening with to you right now is called the conviction of the Holy Spirit. He has caused you to understand and realize that there is a better way to live this thing called life, and the path that you're on will not lead to life, but to destruction. You do not want that and God does not want that for you!"" 
 
After praying for Pepper, I taught her this simple prayer that she could easily remember whenever she needed to do so. The prayer, for whenever she was tempted, was simply this, ""LORD, HELP!"" I told her, “If you leave me and head for the dope house, before you light that pipe, scream out, ‘LORD HELP!’ He heard your cry this day and has come to rescue you.”
 
After giving Pepper a great big hug, I exited her car, caught my train to work, and arrived on time.
 
I wish I knew what became of her... Pepper crosses my mind often, and when she does, as promised, I pray for her. 
 
As scripture tells us, God's plans are not our plans, and His ways are certainly not our ways, but two things are for certain: (1) He that wins souls is wise, and (2) We are the salt of the earth!"" This happened 22 years ago, and on that day, Pepper was Pepper, and Salt was surely Salt! 
 
","August 02, 2023 15:56","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://themyelitedatequest.life/?u=0uww0kv&o=1e0px26', 'time': '18:00 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,h71y5k,A BOIL IN THE DESERT,Julia Corliss,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/h71y5k/,/short-story/h71y5k/,Dramatic,0,"['Middle School', 'Inspirational', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
	The pain under my arm started as we left the motel. Daddy was determined to make it across the desert in one day. He and Mother had packed the old family Studebaker 4-door sedan tight while it was starry sky dark. They woke us kids up way before dawn and bundled us into the Studebaker. Daddy said it was a workhorse and would safely get us across the desert and on to California. I privately wondered about that.
 
	We were well into the desert as the sun was waking up. I had only been able to doze off and on because of the pain under my arm. My little brother and sister slept like puppies in the car bed Mother had built for us in the back seat of the car. They missed the incredible desert dawn, but I drank it all in hoping the beauty would help my pain. I hadn’t moaned or complained about my pain because I was ashamed and afraid because I had disobeyed my mother.
 
	She had told me I was too young to shave under my arms, but I had done it anyway a couple of days before we started on our car trip. I sneaked her razor, did it, cleaned up, and returned the razor without anyone knowing.
 
	 I had once ignored one of Mother’s life-rules: “If you do something you’ve been told not to do, there will be consequences.” The first time she told me this was when she washed my mouth out with soap for sassing her. I had been told not to speak that way, but I had done so anyway. As she lathered up my toothbrush with soap and scrubbed away at my then seven-year-old mouth, she kept saying, “If you do something you’ve been told not to do, there will be consequences. This mouth washing with soap is the consequence for sassing me. I took the consequence, apologized, and never sassed her again. But did I really learn my lesson?
 
	Life is filled with temptations. I had been firmly told when I was ten that I was too young to shave my legs and under my arms. Mother had said maybe when I was thirteen or fourteen, I could shave those body parts. I adhered to the admonition not to shave my legs mostly because everybody would’ve immediately noticed. When I turned eleven, just before our car trip, and the hair under my arms kept growing and getting gross looking to me, I just couldn’t see any sense in waiting two more years. So, I did what I did. Now, here I was stuck in the back of the car with my little brother and sister and what I was pretty sure was a boil growing under my right arm. As I thought about it all, I figured that something I had done with the razor in the act of shaving was now causing me to suffer a painful consequence. I wondered what Mother’s interpretation would be and would she think this pain wasn’t enough of a consequence, so I stayed silent.
 
	Mother and Daddy were talking together and paying no attention to the back-seat’s occupants. My siblings who had been arguing over who could have which colors had resolved their differences over the crayons and were now heads down wildly coloring away in the coloring books. No one was paying any attention to me. So, I felt under my arm as the sun climbed ever higher into the sky and, sure enough, felt a bump forming the center of the pain. I wondered how hot it would get and how big the painful bump would get and if it did, how long would it be before I’d have to confess what I did and ask for help from my parents.
 
	From the front seat, I heard Daddy ask Mother to check the map for how far the next big town was where we could get gas. Mother said she would and I could hear her unfolding the road map. As the miles ticked by, the pain under my arm was now a steady, dull throb. I hoped I could make it to wherever the next stop would be. I sneaked a peak under my right arm at what was happening. Yep, there was a throbbing red bump and redness all around that bump. It hurt a lot, but I gritted my teeth and held my silence. I picked up one of the horse books Mother had provided for me and tried to read. I couldn’t focus on the words, so I gave up and just pretended to read by holding the book and occasionally turning pages. I had no idea what was happening in the story, even though horse stories were my favorites. My entire locus of attention was under my right arm.
 
	The heat was intensifying. There was no air conditioning in our Studebaker, not even an air cooler. All we had were wet rags Mother wet from a large water bottle and handed over the seat for us to place on our foreheads and she was frugal with those because as she told us, the water had to last until the next filling station stop. From our back-seat perspective, there was no telling when that would be or what we might have to endure before that happened. I was already enduring more than I had bargained for at the start of this journey.
 
	Despite my best efforts to stifle any moans, as the heat and the pain got worse, a deep moan escaped my lips. Mother whipped around and looked at me, asking “Josie, are you carsick?” That had happened to me before.
 
	“No, Mam,"" I answered.
 
	Mother felt my face. She felt the faces of my siblings for comparison.
 
 	“Josie, you are burning up with fever.”
 
“Yes, Mam,"" I replied and lifted my right arm so she could see my armpit.
 
	Mother gasped at what she saw. She turned to my father and said,” Josie has a large boil under her right arm. It is sending poison into her body.”
 
	Daddy was silent at first, thinking. Then, he said, “We are not going to stop or veer off this road. Do what you can to help her.” He drove on.
 
	The desert heat intensified. Mother gave me a fresh wet rag and told me to put it under my arm. I did so, but it only brought a little relief.
 
	“How do you feel, Josie?” Mother asked.
 
	“Like I’m dying,” I whispered, though I had no idea what dying actually felt like.
 
	I closed my eyes and rocked along with the movement of our Studebaker. I began muttering to myself praying to God to take away this pain and promising to never disobey my parents again, ever.
 
	“What are you muttering about, Josie?” Mother asked.
 
	“I’m praying,"" I said. I knew I wasn’t known as a praying person, even in church. It just never seemed right to me to ask God for stuff when I already had a good family, home, and my own horse. I couldn’t remember the last time I asked God for anything. But, in this particular situation in the Studebaker in the desert with the boil, I thought it was time to ask for help, and I figured God was the best one to ask. I knew he was more powerful than my parents. Don’t ask how I knew that, I just did. So, I asked and asked for his mercy and his help as sincerely as I knew how.
 
	Mother said, “We should all ask for God’s help.
 
	Daddy said, “Talk to God silently now all of you.”
 
	As silence reigned inside the car, storm clouds were starting to build in the desert sky, and we were headed right into them.
 
	“Storm’s a coming,” Daddy said breaking the silence, “and they can be fierce in this desert, though usually short.”
 
	He pulled off the road on a rise of high ground to wait it out. We all knew that the rubber in car tires were a shield against lightning. At least, we'd been told that. I sure hoped it was true. As he turned off the motor, the sky went black and tremendous lightning greeted our eyes and loud thunder shocked our ears. I concentrated harder on my praying.
 
	Inexplicably, in the midst of all this lightning, thunder, and praying, my boil burst spewing its poison out of me just as the heavens opened up and a deluge of rain poured down upon our car. I could feel the poison from the boil emptying into the rag that Mother had given me to hold under my arm. My hand was stiff from holding it there when suddenly there was no rain pounding on the roof of the car.
 
	“Storm’s over,” Daddy declared.
 
	The whole thing--storm, boil draining, all of it, according to Daddy only lasted about 15 ferocious minutes. It seemed like an hour at least to me.
 
	“My boil burst and spewed,” I announced.
 
	“Thank God,” Mother said.
 
	Daddy nodded.
 
	I nodded.
 
	My siblings nodded.
 
	We all rolled down the windows and let the coolness from the storm’s rain pervade the car. My siblings went back to coloring. Daddy started up the car and pulled back onto the road heading west. Mother handed me a fresh wet rag to clean up my under arm saying, “Josie, do the thinking you need to do. Clean up under your arm. We’ll talk later about all this.”
 
	“Yes, Mam,” I answered.
 
	Whatever happened next, whatever consequence came when my parents knew about my shaving and the coming of the boil, I would take it gladly. In my mind, I was saved from Death! Somehow amidst the thunder and lightning, God had heard me, taken pity on me,  and mercifully burst my boil. I kept murmuring to myself, “Thank you, thank you, sweet Lord, thank you, thank you.”
 
	I did my thinking as Mother had directed me to do. I had been taught to recognize and understand a life lesson, especially when it smacked me in the face. Then, analyze my behavior, and figure out what there was for me to learn. Such life lessons were never easy to look at, but I knew this was one such time I definitely needed to do so.  I turned everything over in my mind and came to an important understanding. From that day forward, I acknowledged the power of prayer and the gift of God’s mercy. I never forgot that lesson, and I never shaved under my arms again.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 05, 2023 03:05",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1qm7k1,Scent Memory,Brian Mossa,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1qm7k1/,/short-story/1qm7k1/,Dramatic,0,"['American', 'Contemporary', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
The car still had his smell in it. It reminded her of the times she would jump in the back seat, and he’d head out of town to a meadow or hiking trail where she would be free to chase sticks and her Lulu ball under the sun. Sometimes Honey Dear would come with them. She and Man would bring a picnic; tossing small bites of summer sausage or baby carrots at Lulu while she sat, panting, on the blanket with them. 
 
His scent was faint. It was difficult to separate from the flood of other smells: the hot air blowing through the vents, bringing in the smells of the road, the sweet scent of Honey Dear as she navigated the car carefully amongst weekend traffic, the new, still unfamiliar, smells of Baby’s skin and breath. (Honey Dear had just dropped Baby off with Mother.) Also, like a distant bird’s cry, Lulu could smell a thunderstorm making its way across the hills. Storms always frightened her.
 
Finally, she was able to pinpoint the whisper of Man’s scent. His old scent, not the smell of sickness that had overwhelmed the house before he went away and didn’t come back. It was Man the way he smelled long ago, when she was a meek little puppy who had watched her siblings be taken away, leaving her alone in a tiny cage. He had heard her whimper and was immediately drawn to her. Patting her gently he fed her treats and spoke to her softly while they drove back to his apartment. Lulu was happy she found this memory; her tail began to wag.
 
Honey Dear slumped a little lower in her seat. Lulu could smell her tears although she wept quietly. Ever since Man had gone away, she cried a lot. She’d cried before then, but it was different. Shortly after Man and Lulu had left the apartment and moved into a house with Honey Dear, the human had come out of the bathroom and shown Man a stick she held in her hands. Man’s face immediately opened into a smile and Lulu could smell his surprise and joy. Honey Dear, tears flowing, allowed herself to be pulled onto the bed with them. Lulu, excitedly let out a series of happy barks.
 
“I told you Lulu would be happy for us!” Man said.
 
At this point, Lulu was furiously sniffing the stick, which had fallen out of Honey Dear’s hand onto the bed sheets. The two looked at her and laughed. Lulu wagged her tail.
 
In the time that followed many new smells introduced themselves: fresh paint that Man and Honey Dear spent a weekend applying to the walls in the small bedroom next to the one they slept in, miniature bedsheets and tiny clothes that were washed with a different soap than what Man and Honey Dear usually used on their own laundry, and boxes containing furniture that filled her nostrils with a cut wood smell which she would savor as Man crouched on the floor, swearing at a piece of paper.
 
Honey Dear smelled of hormones and hand cream and contentment. She had always been a kind, soft-spoken person. Now there was a tranquil layer that somehow wrapped around her and gently hung in the room after she left. Of course, once her abdomen had grown large, Lulu  found some of those smells were replaced with discomfort and sweat and irritability. However, Honey Dear was always kind to Lulu and was happy to push herself out of a chair and shuffle over to open the sliding door, allowing the dog to venture into the yard.
 
Man’s scent changed too. There was happiness and apprehension, worry and joy, and something else she couldn’t quite identify. It was sour and smelled nothing like Man’s other smells. As the days moved along the smell became more distinct. Even after Baby arrived with all of her new and wonderful scents, the smell was there, hanging like a miasma around him. This smell would later be named “Tumor” by Man and Honey Dear. Lulu was pretty sure it was the reason that Man went away.
 
Honey Dear drove past one of the parks Man used to take them to. The first time Lulu had met Honey dear was in a park, but that one was in the city. She was still a puppy then. Man would take her there and lead her around by the leash. People would smile down at her as she weaved around Man’s legs. One sunny day, Lulu was distracted by the smell of hot dogs being sold out of a cart. She ran through Man’s legs causing him to stumble backward, knocking into a woman.
 
“I’m so sorry,” Man said immediately.
 
“It’s okay,” replied Honey Dear.
 
“This little girl is full of energy.”
 
“She is. How long have you had her?” Honey dear bent down and patted Lulu’s head gently. Lulu threw herself on the ground and rolled on her back. Honey Dear gently rubbed her belly.
 
“About two months.”
 
“She certainly is friendly.”
 
“She’s a sweetheart.”
 
The two people stood there and spoke some more, and then even more as Honey Dear joined them for their walk around the park. (Lulu had to pull on her leash and let out a little yip to get Man’s attention.) After their stroll, the three of them stood on the sidewalk. Lulu was anxious to get home to her dinner.
 
“I guess we should go,” said man.
 
“Yeah,” said Honey Dear, “It was nice talking to you.”
 
The two stood there, gazing at each other until Honey Dear turned to go and Lulu let out a big whimper.
 
“Did I forget to say goodbye to you, Lulu!”
 
“I think she’s asking for your phone number.” 
 
Through the windows Lulu could see the evening sky transformed by storm clouds. They passed mostly trees and fields. Honey Dear was still quietly weeping when the phone rang. 
 
“Hi.”
 
A woman’s voice came through the speakers.
 
“Hey Jess!”
 
“Hi Bex.”
 
“Listen. Josh is off with his brothers tonight and I thought maybe you and the little one could stop by and keep me company. I’ve popped a lot of popcorn and I’m ready to stream the most vacuous reality show of your choice!”
 
“Sorry. I… I dropped Ava off at my mom’s…” Honey Dear looked toward the back seat and Lulu for the first time since leaving Baby with Mother. “I have a… errand.”
 
“Errand?”
 
“Yeah, I’ve got to sign some papers.”
 
“You’re signing papers on a Friday night?”
 
“Uh yeah. I don’t want to think about them all weekend.”
 
Lulu heard the woman exhale. “Are you okay Jess?”
 
“We both know that I’m not and probably won’t be for a long time.”
 
“I meant to be by yourself. Are you in the car?”
 
“I gotta do something tonight Bex. I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
 
“What papers can’t wait until Monday?”
 
“These. I’ll call you later!”
 
The other woman started to speak again but was silenced with the push of a button.
 
They drove in silence. Big drops of rain had started to splash against the windshield when Lulu heard the car’s voice say, “In five hundred feet, turn right onto Route 14, Billings Road, towards Bensville.”
 
They drove for another few minutes when, with a startling suddenness, the rain fell hard, crashing on the roof and hood of the car as if being hurtled from the sky like tennis balls. The windshield became a gray sheet. Honey Dear slowed down but did not stop. Lulu lowered herself to the seat; fear shot through her body. Slowly and dutifully, Honey Dear obeyed the car’s directions. Stopping the car when finally it proclaimed, “You have arrived, Hillside Animal Shelter.”
 
Honey Dear opened her door and stepped into the cascading storm. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated her silhouette as she came around the front of the car. The rain continued to drum on the roof in ways that caused naked panic to bloom in a dog’s heart. The back door opened, and Honey Dear’s bedraggled figure leaned into the back seat. She spoke in that sad/happy voice she had recently started using with Baby.
 
“Come on out Lulu.”
 
Lulu just looked at her.
 
She slipped her finger under the dog’s collar and gently tugged her towards the open door. Lulu wouldn’t move. After a few more tries, Honey Dear gave up and grabbed the leash off of the passenger seat, hooking it to her collar. She tugged and tugged but Lulu only whimpered. 
 
“Come on Girl! Please!” she said. “Time to get out of the car!”
 
Lulu could not make herself move toward the door.
 
Honey Dear began to tug harder. “Please!” she cried.
 
Lulu was frozen to the seat. She looked at Honey Dear, a dark shape standing in an unknown parking lot. The lot began to flood as Honey Dear pulled at her more frantically.
 
One night, before Man went away and did not come back, Lulu found him sitting alone on the cool floor of the bathroom. She nudged him with her nose, and he gently patted her on the head. She licked away his tears and he replied with a weak laugh.
 
The rain kept on falling. Honey Dear was shivering from the cold. Another flash of lightning and a loud thunderclap drove Lulu whimpering to the floor of the car. The hood of Honey Dear’s raincoat fell from her head. Rain pelted her but she persisted. More lightning burned through the sky.
 
 She lay next to him on the bathroom floor. He placed his hand on her back. They stayed like that the rest of the night. Lulu would have stayed forever if he’d wanted her to.
","August 05, 2023 03:19","[[{'Sarafina Hamer': ""Took me a while to realize this was from the dog's perspective but when I did it really made me pay attention to how everything was being described. From the smells, to what was being observed. So creative!"", 'time': '15:24 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Brian Mossa': 'Thank you! I appreciate your feedback.', 'time': '18:07 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Brian Mossa': 'Thank you! I appreciate your feedback.', 'time': '18:07 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,rf1um6,Route 2,Rokeia Wheeler,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rf1um6/,/short-story/rf1um6/,Dramatic,0,"['Suspense', 'Thriller', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
      Ringing ears, a pounding headache, deep shallow breaths from snapping awake, only to still be surrounded by darkness. It all seemed so loud and quiet at the same time. “Where am I?”, Kennedy wondered as she tried to sit up, only to have something blocking her way. Feeling her way around, she could tell she was boxed in. The fog around her brain began to clear up, the ringing in her ears was getting lower and now she could hear a muffled song playing, feel the thumping of the speakers, the tired thudding against paved roads, someone talking loudly. Yelling maybe? 
“Am I in a trunk right now?” She mumbled to herself before panic ensued.
	Then came the screaming, the banging and begging to be freed, “Somebody!! Somebody help me please!”, it didn’t help anything. It only made her loose oxygen, made her lightheaded. No one was coming to save her. Kennedy threw her head back in defeat, reinjuring the tender spot where she got hit in the back of the head. “What the hell happened?”, Kennedy wondered. 
         Meanwhile past the inside of the trunk, past the backseat that held worn construction boots, cans of energy drinks, sodas, beer, a jug of whiskey all empty. Along with the effects of Kennedy. Her purse, ID, and cellphone that kept buzzing on the floor of the backseat. In the very front of the car there were two bodies who occupied the front seats. One in the driver’s seat rocking out to some heavy metal with his foot pressed down on the gas, gunning it. 
	He was going at least 90, eyes low from the amount of drinks he consumed, including the ones spewed in the backseat of his matte black ’68 Chevy Camaro. To him it was his dream car. To everyone else it was scrap metal that needed to be at the junk yard, but he would always tell them Betsy just needs a little love. On the passenger side sat a man who kept looking between his friend and the road that kept speeding at them worriedly, holding on to the bar at the top side of the door. Oddly enough he had to admit to himself that the scene of the sun rising was a beautiful sight before him. 
	But now wasn’t the time for that so he shook the thought and turned back to his friend. 
“Brent! What the hell?” He screamed over the screeching sounds of the metal band. He was getting frustrated over having to over talk the music, so he reached over and tuned it down. It earned a side eye from his friend, but he wasn’t phased by it, “Have you finally snapped or something? Why would you do some shit like this?”
“I didn’t mean to man.” Brent shrugged. His attitude became nonchalant, “She wouldn’t stop screaming.” 
         The man in the passenger seat swore he was about to pop a blood vessel. Why was Brent so chill right now?
“So, you thought bashing her in her head was the best solution? And THEN you bring her unconscious body to my front door!” His voice straining in anger. There has been plenty of times where he has been furious with Brent throughout their 13-year friendship, but this one took the cake. 
“Relax Damon.” Was Brent’s only reply and that made his friend snap.
“Relax? Relax! How do you expect me to do that when there is a woman back there screaming her head off in your trunk!” Damon banged his hand on the dashboard with every word he spoke, spit flying out of his mouth from how mad he was, “What is your plan, Brent! Drop he off at the Canadian boarder and say sorry for kidnapping you, but I hope you like your new life in Canda cause I can’t let you come back here!” 
“I don’t know what I’m going to do Damon! Okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?” Brent screamed back. The cool demeanor gone in a spit second. It had gone quiet in the car, just the music playing lowly. Not even a scream from Kennedy. 
“Why’d you, do it?” Damon asked after a while. Looking out of the front of the car, eyes back on that beautiful sun rise coming over the Montana mountains. Damon had never seen anything like it before. The live picture in front of him almost made him want to cry.  
“I was just tired you know. Tired of hearing no. Tired of hearing I think you’re a great guy, but we don’t match.” Brent now also staring at the scene in front of him, but he wasn’t taking it in like Damon. He was thinking about six hours ago when he was on his date with Kennedy and she told him those exact same words, “We’re not a match”. Thinking about it again made him grip the steering wheel tightly. 
“So, you bash her in her head?” Damon asked again. He just couldn't comprehend what was going on. This wasn’t the Brent he knew. He knew his friend was off his game for a little while, but he thought he would bounce back. He always did, “What are we going to do Brent? We got to get ourselves out of this situation. You know she’s going to go straight to the police. You plan on killing her? Then what?” 
“I don’t know.” 
“Well, what do you know!” Damon screamed at him and the banging in the trunk stared again. The yells for help started again. It was clouding Brent’s head. 
“I don’t know! Shut up! Shut the fuck up both of you!” He banged his fist on the steering wheel, then put the music back on blast to drown out everyone and everything including his own thoughts. Picking up more speed. 
         Back in the trunk laid a scared Kennedy. Fresh tears covering her face, mixing in with the ones that had dried. Her voice was starting to become hoarse from all the screaming she had been doing. Blaming herself for getting into the situation in the first place. She had gone on a date with Brent, this one being the third one. 
	She only went back out with him again because her friends had encouraged it. Kennedy hadn’t been on a date in a couple of years, so she had decided to get back out there again when she matched with Brent on a dating app. She had fun the other two times they had gone out, but there was something off about him and she was usually right about her hunches, but she ignored because her friends told her she was just overreacting. When they were on this last date Brent was acting so possessive and she decided it was time to cut it off. She thought she was letting him down gently, but he didn’t take it well or shouldn’t be here now. 
“Think Kennedy, think.” How was she going to get herself out of this situation alive. She’s seen these videos before floating on social media where if you just so happened to get stuck in someone’s trunk. Never thought she was going to need it, so she didn’t pay it much attention, “What did it say to do?”
         Oh, that’s right! You have to kick out the taillight. So, Kennedy waited and while she waited there was still some panicking involved, but when the time was right, she began to kick away. When the music got turned back up and the yelling began again. 
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
         A good five hard kicks, that’s what it took to get a chunk of the light out. Kennedy didn’t stop there though. She kicked and kicked till she was able to fit her hand where the light used to be, and she begun waving her hand around like a crazy person. 10 minutes…20 minutes…an hour? She wasn’t sure, her hand was tired, her arm was cramping up, but she wasn’t going to stop till she knew someone saw her. 
         Back inside the car there was still yelling going on. The music was still blasting and there was some more alcohol to be had by Brent. Damon didn’t even know where it was coming from. It was like Brnet was a magician and he was pulling bottles and cans out from thin air. 
“I don’t need any help!” Brent yelled and swerved slightly as he pointed his finger at Damon’s face. He was pissed. How could his best friend suggest that he was crazy. That he need help. 
“What do you call this then Brent! If this isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what is. You kidnapped someone!” 
“I told you I’m just tired. I’m tired of being used. These women they just use you for your money and then move on to the next like you’re nothing.” He spat out in distaste.
“What money! You can’t even keep a job. That is your mom giving you money every week and it’s not enough for some broad to live off of.” 
         Damon was tired. This is what he has been dealing with for a long time. People always tell you never leave your friends when they are down. Always check on your loved ones, you never know what they are going through. But no one ever talks about when you are at your wits end and there is no helping them, you’re only hindering them at this point. 
         Brent was crushed. That’s what his best friend thought of him? Someone who just lived in his mother’s house and didn’t do for himself. 
“Don’t…don’t say that. You don’t mean that.” 
“I do. I do mean it Brent. I don’t know any other way to put it. Look at this mess you roped me in! I could lose everything because of you! Because you can’t take no for an answer from some girl. She probably seen you were lost in your head and didn’t wanting anything to do with you! I should take a page out of her book because I can’t do this anymore!” Damon said, his voice a mixture of crying and screaming. 
“Please! You don’t mean that! You’re all that I have out here in this world. The only one who is there for me no matter what.” This felt like a really bad break up, the way Brent’s heart was breaking.
“Yea. Well maybe I’m tired of being the only one.” Damon replied lowly. 
         No more was said after that. What could one say after something like that? All that could be heard was the head banging music. Heavy metal and awkwardness didn’t go together, but it didn’t last long. The sound of sirens took over and nothing they had said not even five minutes ago mattered as fear overtook them. Sure enough they could see a police car behind them in the rearview mirror. 
“Oh shit! What are we going to do!” Damon’s voice wavered.
	He knew they were going to go down for this. The girl in the trunk, the bottles that littered the car and no telling what else Brent had on him. He didn’t know how he could get himself out of this since he did help his friend carry the knocked-out girl to his car and he came along willingly. What was he supposed to do? Brent seemed to be taking a different route with his fear as he gained more speed going down route 2. 
	He started zipping past cars, weaving in and out of traffic. Damon looked over at his friend and saw the zoned-out look in his eyes and it looked like nobody was home. 
“Brent?” No answer came from him he just looked ahead. Doing 103 mph now, “Brent! What are you doing! Pull over! You’re making this worse than what it has to be.” Brent snapped his head towards Damon. 
“Isn’t that what I do best? I make everything worse by doing dumb shit like this. So why don’t I end it for this both of us! Put us both out of our misery!” 
“You’re talking crazy! Come on man! We can get you some help okay! I won’t leave you. I promise. I’m sorry I said that. I was upset, it happens. We say things we don’t mean. Just pull over please!” Damon cried as he said anything he could think of just so he wouldn’t die. Not even a thought about the girl in the back, he was just worried about himself at the moment. 
         It seemed to have worked. Brent’s facial expression had changed from a look of murderous determination to a look of sorry as he finally pulled over to the shoulder on the right. The cop car was hot on his tail and slammed to a stop. Not a moment later the officer was at the driver’s side window. Brent rolled it down and turned the music down. 
	He looked at the officer giving him a smile. Well, he tried to, but it looked like he was in pain, “How can I help you officer?”
“Did you not see me signaling you to pull over a little ago back there?” The officer Camden is what his badge read was not pleased. One hand leaning on the roof of that busted Chevy and the other on his holster. He was ready for anything after he got the call that a few people had spotted a hand sticking out of where this man’s taillight should be. 
“I’m sorry I did not. I had my music blasting and me and my friend here were in an argument so I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. I do apologize.” Brent spoke as he nodded his head towards Damon who was sweating bullets.
         What officer Camden wasn’t ready for was to look over at the passenger seat and see that there was nobody there. 
“Who are you talking about?” 
“What do you mean? My buddy here…” Brent turned to look at Damon, but he was right. 
“There’s no one there.” 
BANG! BANG!
“Someone help me!” Kennedy yelled. The cop drew his gun quickly and aimed it at Brent. 
“Sir I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle. Slowly.” 
“There’s no one there…”
 
","August 03, 2023 00:48",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,l244rj,May It Please the Court,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l244rj/,/short-story/l244rj/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Coming of Age', 'Adventure']",8 likes,"
When I had picked up the eighty-eight-year-old judge at his townhouse in Marlton, I had assumed that I was driving. I had been wrong. I had also thought we were headed to a Trial Lawyer’s Conference for the New Jersey Association of Justice. Wrong there too. The problem was, I had strict orders from Judge Stein to get his former mentor to the conference on time, and I had promised Judge Redmond’s wife, who literally made me swear on a Bible, that I wouldn’t let the old man drive.It had started in the garage.“So you’ll be my chauffeur today?” the Judge said, derisively.“Not a chauffeur. More like your fellow panelist,” I said, “and I will get you there on time.”“That so.”The judge grabbed a pair of Valentio rounded sunglasses with gunmetal side shields from a tool chest and tossed on a Belfry Casto classic flat cap with a shepherd’s check of copper, gray and navy—and grabbed the keys right out of my hand with a wink. Rather than a tie, he wore a gold men’s ascot beneath the collar of his white button down. Judge “Red” Redmond’s jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S-993 convertible was like training wheels for adults. Judge Redmond floored the throttle out of the drive. He then took a turn in his development at about sixty miles-an-hour, but you would have never known it if you weren’t looking at the speedometer—which I was. All the way to the gas station, Judge Redmond ignored the lane lines and seemed unconcerned with driving in a straight line, but the wheels were glued to the ground and mopped up turns like a janitor. No matter how much Judge Redmond swerved, this rocket stuck the landing and trued up straight as an arrow.I worked for Judge Stein as his law clerk. But a long time ago, when he was just my age, Judge Stein had worked for Red. We were connected by this chain of apprenticeships. Judge Stein is an austere German Judge who has two notable characteristics: first, an eerie resemblance to Abraham Lincoln with his stately but lanky build, and second, an obsession for punctuality. As his law clerk I had a whole speech that I was required to give to attorneys who dared to show up late for conferences with ‘His Honor.’ From what I’d seen so far of Red, it was hard to imagine these two men forming such a deep bond. They couldn’t be less alike. Judge Stein was punctual to a fault. Red was notoriously tardy. Judge Stein was tall, Red was short, shorter than me, perhaps 5’4”. Judge Stein was humble and unassuming, Red was larger than life. Judge Stein was practical and a government lifer, Red was a famous trial lawyer, who spread an infectious passion for life. Judge Stein was predictable. Red displayed a combative demeanor that made him seem dangerous, his intellectual repartee giving off a muted warning that hidden below the surface was a deadly threat.“How long until we get to the conference,” I asked.“We aren’t going to a conference,” he said.“Where are we going?”“For a drive,” he said.When we arrived at the gas station, Judge Redmond said, “fill ‘er up with premium” and disappeared into the convenience store. He re-emerged with Marlboro Reds, some beef jerky, and a tall coffee. I supplied a full tank and was waiting in the driver’s seat. I texted Judge Stein: Redmond is taking us on a detour. He wrote back: No good. “Would you like me to drive for a bit Judge,” I asked.“Not on your life.” I slid over.“Well then, I guess you can drive a bit further and I’ll take the wheel when we get a few miles down the road.” The Judge looked back at me as if to say it would be a cold day in hell before I drove his car. “Judge—we’ve got to get you to this conference—you know that right? You are delivering the keynote!” The Judge looked over at me from the driver’s seat, rolling down the convertible top, and lit a Marlboro Red cigarette, blowing it provocatively in my face.“They sayyy that you settle down with age and maturity. They sayyy you lose the wanderlust. But, boy, I tell you straight, the joy of the open road, where the way outward is broad and straight and sweet and full of mystery nevah loses its allure.” He flashed an alarming grin as he said all of this. Red handed me a map he had bought at the convenience store.“What is this,” I asked.“It’s a map, boy. Haven’t you ever seen one?”“Not since I was a kid.” “It’s what we used in my day. I tell you. You can’t get properly lost with one of those gizmos always shouting at you where to turn next. And you have to get terribly lost if you ever want to be found—terribly lost.”“But what do we want to get lost for? Isn’t the whole point not to do that?”“Do you think Columbus discovered America because that is where he was headed? The man was looking for Asia! If he had not gotten lost you’d still be in Europe!”“But, we are going somewhere, Judge—we are going to a conference—one where you are the keynote speaker and about two hundred lawyers are waiting to hear from you—and in case your brain isn’t working so good, this is all happening pretty soon. In about 43 minutes to be exact. So, why don’t you let me take the wheel and get us down to New Brunswick.”“Let’s don’t and say we did. There isn’t much for us at that conference.”“Judge, you’re going the wrong way! I know which way to go here… if you’ll just—”The Judge flicked he Marlboro Red cigarette he was currently smoking directly at my head, and I dodged it, beginning to get angry.“Son, you don’t know your own country. You probably don’t know this county. Maybe not even your hometown. If you want to be a trial lawyer, you need to know about the world—get lost in it—find your way as you go—observe the comings and goings of people—their habits, the way they talk, the way they walk, their general attitudes and preferences, and most of all—how they see the world.”“We are going to find that out by getting lost on Rt. 31 in Flemington?”“Son, you’ve been lost your entire life.”“I’m not lost. I got through law school, passed the bar, and I’m studying under your protégé to be a trial lawyer. The last thing I am is lost.”“Hooah! Some spit and fire, at last. You have it all figured out—do you—at twenty-five? Do you think you are the first to pass this way… to fancy himself a litigator? A ‘trial lawyer’? Hmm? Do you? Let me ask you this—what kind of cases do you want to handle?”“I was thinking of starting out in insurance defense.”“Insurance defense! Good God, son. Kill me now. No, literally—kill me.”“What’s wrong with that? Judge Stein has always told me the best way to learn how to be a plaintiff’s attorney is to learn the trade from the other side—learn how to find the weaknesses in a case and expose them—then you will know how to make yours.”He waved his right hand and shook his head. “Judge Stein is a fool! Listen to him and you’ll end up the same—wasting away as a trumped up bureaucrat. Insurance defense! That won’t do. Won’t do at all.” Red jolted the car forward, swerving recklessly into the left lane and began weaving in and out of traffic. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “you studied literature—the finest exemplars of man’s yearnings, the distillation of the misfortunes men face on the way, the tug-of-war against their inadequacies. Then you took up law—the science of conflict and resolution. And you want to put that training to work pouring over medical records and find incongruence in injury reports? No, no, no!”“I suppose you have a better idea.”“Doesn’t anyone tell you people to think of what you want to do with your lives before you sign up for your first Civil Procedure course? My idea. Yeah. It’s better. It’s called being a lawyer, son. And a lawyer makes the case he’s given, deals with the subject at hand—tells a man’s story because it deserves to be told. Stop thinking of being a trial lawyer as a trade. It is a craft. Something you are, not something you do.”“So where are we headed, then?”“Ahh, finally a good question. You know, in my days on the bench, these lawyers would come into my courtroom complaining about how they weren’t provided necessary discovery by opposing counsel or how they needed to take a deposition of this one or that one. When we’d go back in chambers to discuss their matters, they’d say they had a ‘case.’ But they didn’t know what the case was about. Always the same pedestrian dribble. You aren’t going to be one of those slopsuckers, are you?”“You just described exactly what I see everyday in Judge Stein’s courtroom.”“Speaking of. Judge Stein told me you were a quick study, a boy with promise. I hate to tell you this, but I’m beginning to doubt his judgment, beginning to doubt it more than I already had.”“So, you’re saying that just having a case isn’t enough, just making a case isn’t enough?”“Dear God! Son! No! I imagine these clodhoppers sitting in their office. A client walks in with a problem, right. They’ve been gravely injured. So what? They tell them what the going rate is for a bum knee or a bad back and how the legal process works. Those are not lawyers. Those are clerks taking orders for auto parts at a dealership. If a lawyer stood in my courtroom and said, ‘Judge, I’m here to get my client what they deserve,’ that was code for—I don’t have the slightest clue about the human condition or what a case actually is. But, if a lawyer walked in and said, Joe Schmoe’s life has been irreparably altered and he needs this money for a damn good reason, to set the course he was set on back straight—maybe we were on the path to an actual case. The path to redemption. You follow?”“Not exactly.”“Someone suffers an injury, right? It’s a problem. It’s a problem for his employer. It’s a problem for his wife. It’s a problem for his children. Hell, it’s a problem for society at large. Maybe our boy Joe was saving up for his son to attend medical school, and maybe he can’t ply his trade now that he’s in tormenting agony twenty-three hours out of the day. Now we are out a doctor. So, a lawyer tells me that he needs a million dollars to compensate for his client’s inability to do what he was perfectly capable of doing before—putting his son through medical school. Now we have a case. Maybe our boy Joe was an avid runner who took all his joy in life from running marathons, and his running shoes are gathering dust in the ga-rage, never to be laced up for a race again. This poor lamed and mangled soul has become a sad sop. He’s no good to his wife. He’s half the father he used to be. So, a lawyer tells me he needs a million dollars to compensate him for the lost joy of a life. Now we have a case. Cases are a lot like road trips. They don’t mean a thing unless you get a fix on the destination.”“So where are we going?”“You tell me son.”“I don’t have anything in mind.”“That’s a pity. Hmmm. I have an idea!”The judge drove north onto I-95 toward Trenton. And he didn’t hold back on the throttle.“There were three great trials in the twentieth century. There was the Scopes Monkey Trial in Tennessee. That was Clarence Darrow as the inquisitor against the Good Book. The devil won that one. There was the O.J. Simpson trial. And we know the devil prevailed there too. Last, was the trial of Richard “Bruno” Hauptmann, for the kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh’s baby, Junior.”“I haven’t heard of that one.”“I expect you haven’t. That was 1935. It was even before my time. The fact it involved ‘The Lone Eagle’--Lucky Lindbergh--who flew the Spirit of St. Louis and famously flew from America to Paris, which made him a hero and hence a target, turned this whole trial into a circus. It was a post-World War I German vs. American showdown with Lindbergh as hero and Hauptmann as villain, and the media piled on and the public ate it up. And it all went down in the Hunterdon County Courthouse right across from the Union Motel. If I were to tell you about the cast of characters involved in this fiasco, you’d think I was making it up! There was Dr. John Condon, a retired principal in the Bronx, who had a clandestine meeting with the kidnapper in a cemetery, Attorney General David Wilentz—patriarch of the Wilentz Law Firm—for the prosecution, a green young lawyer who had never tried a case, defense attorney Edward J. Reilly, the hard drinking “Bull of Brooklyn” as he was called—always wearing the pinstripes and a white carnation, claiming 2,000 acquittals, and claiming that Isidor Fisch did it, and there was the good judge, Thomas Whitaker Trenchard, who ordered Hauptmann’s execution after he was convicted, even though Governor Harold G. Hoffman wasn’t so sure. Then there was the maid who committed suicide and the posthumous Isidor Fisch himself, who may have been the real killer. There were 162 witnesses on the Trial! Can you imagine?”“Was Hauptmann really guilty?”“Seems not. Some say it was the greatest fraud in the history of our country. If we really fried an innocent man, then it would seem the devil has gone three-for-three. But who can say what justice is – time has closed the books – all there is now is speculation.”“You really think they got the wrong man?”“I don’t know. For want of a good lawyer, son—for want of an honest lawman—we will never know.”* * *The boy wore a hooded sweatshirt with the words “Lion’s Wrestling Camp” on the back. He sat forward at the diner counter playing with his spoon and looking at the clock. When we strolled in, Red put his arm around the boy’s back and said, “hey there Champ! You look to be in good form, son!”“Thanks Red—thanks for seeing me.”Red pointed at me. “This here is Steven Werner, esquire. You can call him Bruiser. As a boy, he was on the Shawnee team—best defensive wrestler in the state, then, this one. Known for his throws—never taught him how to shoot though.”“That’s alright Red. Good to meet you, Steven. Boy… where do I begin…” the boy said pushing an article in front of me, which I read as we spoke.The headline of the news article read, “Wrestling Star Chokes Dishwasher To Death at TJ’s Pancakes.” The facts were that two high school boys, Jamie “Slim” O’Brien and his best friend Mick Gordon had a run-in with Hauptmann’s great grandson, a dishwasher, Boris Petrov. It happened on a May night. After the run-in Boris was dead. There was a fatal struggle, and the case was homicide. But it took a while for Prosecutor, A.P. Roger Madsen to receive conclusive cause of death evidence of death by strangling. The state Medical Examiner’s autopsy showed extensive injuries and a fracture of the throat cavity. Since Petrov had been robbed, Slim was a person of interest out of the gate, since he had a prior record for pushing drugs.“So, the thing is… I worked at the pancake house… I pushed drugs, cocaine, some Adderall, stuff like that. And I was all-state. Boris was a friend. But the guy was always watching us, knowing what we were up to and all. He had a bad rap, family was cursed—and he was old yo, like mad old. Old old. No offense Red, you’re like a cool old man. He wasn’t that kind. He was like the Boo Radley kind. He was an old recluse they let stay in a boarding house upstairs. No one really knew much about him. And he had a vicious temper—if he ever actually spoke.”“Where were you on the night he died?”“I left man. I was out of there. But they don’t believe me. When the old man was getting choked to death, I was out training, running the loop at Bernadette Park, down the street from the Pancake House.”“So is there anyone---”“No, before you even ask it—no, no one saw me there.”“And you have no idea who did it?”“Can you help me brother… Bruiser… they want life in prison man, life.”I looked over at Red. There was no clear defense. The evidence was circumstantial. Red nodded his head and tipped the flat cap. This boy’s whole life was on the line. “What’ll it be?” Red said. A text came in from Judge Stein and I responded: not going to make the conference—important—fill you in later.“Let’s talk about what else happened that night,” I said.“I’ll let you two talk,” Red said, walking out of the diner.“Don’t even think of getting back behind the wheel without me, old man!” I said.
","August 05, 2023 03:31","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'What has this been four or five for the week?', 'time': '00:37 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': ""Thanks Mary!  I used to write when I was young, but haven't written anything in years until recently.  So, as I started writing again, I stumbled on Reedsy and made a goal to write one short story per day based on the writing prompts.  I'm going to do my best to keep it up and see if I can improve my craft.  It has been a real adventure to get back into writing again!  I'm going for 5 new stories each week."", 'time': '00:47 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'I struggle to get one. But so far have done one each week since I started. I am new to writing also.\nMay I share some good news with you? I entered the first 50 pages of the novel manuscript I wrote in 2022 in Killer Nashville The Claymore Award and am now a finalist in the western category! Find out winners in two weeks.', 'time': '01:04 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Jonathan Page': ""Oh wow!!  That is incredible.  I'd love to read it!"", 'time': '15:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Three chapters are in my profile. Trampled Dreams, TD part 2, and Justice Screams. Those are pretty close to the original and a good portion of the 50 pages entered, then Bubbles on the Horizon and Fancy Ranch started out as part of the book but changed drastically for Reedsy.\nThanks for asking', 'time': '15:55 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': ""Thanks Mary!  I used to write when I was young, but haven't written anything in years until recently.  So, as I started writing again, I stumbled on Reedsy and made a goal to write one short story per day based on the writing prompts.  I'm going to do my best to keep it up and see if I can improve my craft.  It has been a real adventure to get back into writing again!  I'm going for 5 new stories each week."", 'time': '00:47 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I struggle to get one. But so far have done one each week since I started. I am new to writing also.\nMay I share some good news with you? I entered the first 50 pages of the novel manuscript I wrote in 2022 in Killer Nashville The Claymore Award and am now a finalist in the western category! Find out winners in two weeks.', 'time': '01:04 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Jonathan Page': ""Oh wow!!  That is incredible.  I'd love to read it!"", 'time': '15:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Three chapters are in my profile. Trampled Dreams, TD part 2, and Justice Screams. Those are pretty close to the original and a good portion of the 50 pages entered, then Bubbles on the Horizon and Fancy Ranch started out as part of the book but changed drastically for Reedsy.\nThanks for asking', 'time': '15:55 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I struggle to get one. But so far have done one each week since I started. I am new to writing also.\nMay I share some good news with you? I entered the first 50 pages of the novel manuscript I wrote in 2022 in Killer Nashville The Claymore Award and am now a finalist in the western category! Find out winners in two weeks.', 'time': '01:04 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': ""Oh wow!!  That is incredible.  I'd love to read it!"", 'time': '15:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Three chapters are in my profile. Trampled Dreams, TD part 2, and Justice Screams. Those are pretty close to the original and a good portion of the 50 pages entered, then Bubbles on the Horizon and Fancy Ranch started out as part of the book but changed drastically for Reedsy.\nThanks for asking', 'time': '15:55 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': ""Oh wow!!  That is incredible.  I'd love to read it!"", 'time': '15:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Three chapters are in my profile. Trampled Dreams, TD part 2, and Justice Screams. Those are pretty close to the original and a good portion of the 50 pages entered, then Bubbles on the Horizon and Fancy Ranch started out as part of the book but changed drastically for Reedsy.\nThanks for asking', 'time': '15:55 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Three chapters are in my profile. Trampled Dreams, TD part 2, and Justice Screams. Those are pretty close to the original and a good portion of the 50 pages entered, then Bubbles on the Horizon and Fancy Ranch started out as part of the book but changed drastically for Reedsy.\nThanks for asking', 'time': '15:55 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,aty1xn,Seeing Red,Emily Pollock,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/aty1xn/,/short-story/aty1xn/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama']",8 likes,"
The small red hatchback sped down the back roads of Western Australia. 
 
	‘Keep it under control, Simon.’ Cherley's tone was harsh but clear from the backseat.
 
	Simon’s eyes stayed fixed on the dirt plain in front, country so red and flat that it was almost impossible to tell the road from the rest. Cherley peered through the gap between the driver’s seat and the car door; Simon’s knuckles strangled the wheel. She looked down at her own palms; one clung to the handle of the back door while the other was cradling Ally’s head, her body stretched out along the seats. 
 
	Rick looked over from the passenger seat. ‘Cherley’s right man, we won’t get her there if we crash.’
 
	‘Everyone just shut up, alright? I’m gonna get her there.’ Simon flicked his gaze to the backseat. ‘Just hold on babe, you’re gonna be fine.’
 
	The car fell silent again as it flew through the emptiness, its wheels the only disturbance to an endless stretch of heat rays that danced up from the earth. 
 
 
*
 
 
‘Ready?’ Jo asked Brian as they climbed into the ambulance.
 
	‘Nearly. Shayna’s just loading the antivenom in the back.’
 
	Jo nodded her understanding. ‘Are we sure it was a brown-y? I’ve seen plenty of tiger snakes out that way.’
 
	‘Nah we’re sure, they managed to snap a picture of it and send it through when they called it in.’ 
 
	Shayna closed the van’s rear door. ‘Alright, you’re all done back here.’ 
 
	Jo hesitated. ‘I might go and do a cross-check.’ 
 
	‘No need, I checked it inside, it’s fine,’ Brian said. He buckled his seatbelt. 
 
	Jo looked at him. ‘Ok.’
 
 
*
 
 
Simon slammed on the breaks and everyone fell forward. The were staring at the dirty end of a tractor.
 
	The sudden movement caused Ally to vomit once again into the bucket on her lap, the bucket they had used to wash up their dishes at the campsite. It still had the smell of cheap detergent and last night’s baked beans. 
 
	Cherley tried to keep Ally’s leg still as she heaved. They had stabilised it as best they could when the bite occurred—Cherley had fashioned a bandage out of all their socks— but the dirt roads and bouts of sickness meant that Ally was still moving her leg some, and some was more than she could afford. 
 
	The red car nosed out from behind the tractor into the other lane; a four-wheel drive was coming the opposite way. ‘Haven’t passed another car all day and now it’s a goddamned parade,’ Simon said, prying his t-shirt off the sweat of his back. 
 
	Cherley took the used bucket from Ally’s lap. ‘I’ll give you the other one.’ She reached down for the small roasting pot that sat in her footwell. ‘Holy hell!’ Cherley yelled as she lifted the lid.
 
	Rick spun around. ‘What?’ 
 
	‘Spiders,’ Cherley said, slamming the lid down. ‘A lot.’ 
 
	‘What kind?’ 
 
	‘I don’t know, I didn’t exactly ask.’ 
 
	‘Well on the scale of a daddy-fucking-long-legs to a fucking funnel web, what did they look like?’
 
	‘They were small and dark.’
 
	‘Could be anything,’ Rick said. ‘Did any get out?’
 
	‘Not that I saw, but the lid wasn’t sealed when it was on the ground.’
 
	‘Shit.’
 
	Simon barely moved, his eyes strict on the road. ‘Just chuck the pot out the fucking window. We’re not stopping to deal with it.’ 
 
	A moment passed and nobody responded.
 
	Cherley wound down her window. 
 
 
*
 
 
The clock had passed an hour. ‘I think we should swap,’ Jo said. 
 
	‘Nah I’m right,’ Brian said, certain. ‘Easy driving. Just straight roads and speed. We’ll hit Glendar Road in no time.’
 
	Jo looked at him and felt the knot turn in her stomach. She was willing to give a lot for a patient, but that didn’t matter if Brian was pushing 160km/hr and hit a kangaroo built like a boulder. 
 
	But she kept quiet.
 
 
*
 
 
‘Can we try the air-con again?’ Cherley asked, looking down to see beads of sweat frame Ally’s pale face. 
 
	‘It still won’t work,’ Simon said. ‘And even if it does, we don’t have enough petrol to ru—’ 
 
	‘HOLY SHIT,’ Rick said, suddenly throwing his body to the right. 
 
	Simon jerked in response, pulling the wheel with him. ‘What?’ 
 
	‘I think some got out,’ Rick said. 
 
	‘Out?’
 
	‘Of the pot. Two spiders just ran across the glove box and into here.’ Rick pointed down to the open storage compartment on the side of his door. ‘Redbacks.’
 
	They all stared at the door.
 
	‘Well find a way to get rid of them,’ Simon said. ‘We’re nearly there and I’m not about to crash because somebody flinches too hard.’
 
 
*
 
 
‘I don’t understand, we should have found the road by now,’ Jo said, feeling the heat and adrenaline slowly zapping her composure. 
 
	‘Check the sat-nav again.’ 
 
	Jo picked up the monitor, then furrowed her brows. ‘It’s saying we need to turn around. We’re no longer on the main road.’
 
	‘Well how the fuck did that happen?’ 
 
	‘I don’t know,’ Jo said, ignoring the accusation in his voice, ‘but we need to turn around. We’re on a small offshoot, been on it for a while it looks like.’
 
	‘Shit,’ Brian said, slowing down just enough to turn the wheel. 
 
 
*
 
 
‘They’ve made a wrong turn, reckon we’ve passed them,’ Rick said as he hung up the call from the dispatcher. 
 
	Simon slammed on the brakes, his jaw locked by the ropes of muscle throttling his neck. He turned the car around. 
 
 
*
 
 
‘Mother fucker,’ Rick said as he flicked the thong from his right foot at a spider running towards Simon. 
 
	‘That makes five,’ Cherley said, her body rigid and eyes darting. 
 
	‘Would’ve been six if I got the one that crawled under my seat,’ Rick said. ‘Sun is blinding, I lost sight of it.’
 
	‘Well keep killing them. I can barely see as it is, and this’—Simon slammed his palm into the sun-visor above—‘is doing fuck-all.’ 
 
 
*
 
 
‘Is that them?’ Jo asked. 
 
	They both strained to see a small car in the distance off to the right, moving at a perpendicular towards the road they were on.
 
	‘Looks red to me. Christ, and I thought we were moving,’ Brian said as he watched the car kick up a dirt storm. 
 
 
*
 
 
Simon jerked his leg at the feel of something on his foot. 
 
	‘You’re alright mate,’ Rick assured him as he looked down to Simon’s feet. ‘Nothing there. Just keep driving, I’m sure we’ll find ‘em any moment now.’ 
 
 
*
 
 
‘We should slow down so they see us,’ Jo said. ‘They’ve got the sun in their eyes.’
 
	‘Nah, we’ll get to the intersection and stop there. They won’t miss us.’
 
 
*
 
 
‘Is that them?’ Cherley asked, pointing out to the left. 
 
	‘Where?’ Simon yelled. ‘I can’t see anything in this goddamned glare.’ 
 
 
*
 
 
The ambulance nosed out into the intersection and waited, the red car powering towards them. 
 
 
*
 
 
	‘Just there,’ Cherley said. ‘RIGHT TH—’
 
	Before Cherley could finish, a spider ran up Simon’s door and onto his arm. 
 
 
*
 
 
	‘Brian, they’re not stopping.
 
	‘Brian?
 
	‘BRIAN?’
 
 
***
 
 
The ambulance was quiet as it rolled along towards the hospital. 
 
	‘Bloody lucky,’ Brian said for the umpteenth time as he attended Ally in the back. ‘I kept telling Jo that you would see us, but then when you weren’t stopping, I really thought we were going to collide.’
 
 We were going to collide, Jo thought as she drove. 
 
	Simon remained too rattled and exhausted to tell Brian that it was luckier than lucky. That he hadn’t seen them at all. That a stupid fucking spider had caused him to lose control and had saved all their lives.  
 
 
*
 
 
They pulled up to the hospital. 
 
	‘She’s barely stable,’ Brian said. ‘Not what we would’ve liked after dosing but I’m sure they’ll get her fixed up inside. She’s lucky, too­—got our last vial. Stocks have been drained this summer.’
 
	Simon thanked them both as he waited outside the vehicle for someone to pull up a stretcher. 
 
	‘Oh, here,’ Jo said. She handed Simon the makeshift bandage Cherley had wrapped around Ally’s leg; Brian had replaced it with a compression bandage in the ambulance. 
 
	‘Thanks,’ Simon said, not meaning it.
 
	Jo remained staring at the bandage as Simon held it. ‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing.
 
	Simon looked down, first with confusion, then with recognition. And then dread. He was looking at a cluster of small black bodies caught in the threads of one of the socks, trying to wriggle free.
 
	‘Spiders,’ he said, not looking up. ‘Redbacks.’
 
	Jo paused. ‘When did they…’ she started but didn’t finish. 
","August 03, 2023 07:14",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,a6r0lq,Riding Shotgun,Gavin Matthew,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/a6r0lq/,/short-story/a6r0lq/,Dramatic,0,"['African American', 'Crime', 'Suspense']",8 likes,"
Riding Shotgun
 
By
Gavin Matthew
 
	The Cadillac was pristine from bumper to grill. Gold wire rims decorated white tires that matched the vehicle’s white body and gold accents. There wasn’t a single spot on a window or mirror. Despite having been parked for hours on Pasell, the car looked as if it were brand new. Even the dancing winter snow, cold flakes piling up from block to block, seemed to drift around the beautiful Cadillac like nature herself knew not to defile it.
	“Goddamn, it’s cold!” Tulip said as she slid into the car’s backseat, brushing snow from her tapered afro.
	“Who you telling?” replied Oil, Tulip’s partner, as he slid in while closing the door. “Glad you’re an expert with the locks because I don’t know how long I could have waited out there.”
	Tulip didn’t waste a second as she climbed from the backseat. Her nimble sinewy form almost swam through the air as she glided behind the steering wheel in one quick action. It didn’t matter that she wore a thick corduroy coat with bell-bottom jeans. Neither her clothes nor the cold slowed the young woman down. Tulip took to her work with the precision of an expert. The only other thing she was ever as serious about was her partner. Oil sat in the back rubbing his arms for warmth. His shabby red flannel coat was nice and thick but it still felt to him as if the winter chill was stewing in his bones. The slender young man was shivering so much that his full afro appeared to be shaking. It wasn’t until his eyes caught the expensive coverings that he stopped feeling the cold, his mind thoroughly distracted by the decadence. 
	“Say, Tulip,” Oil said as he ungloved a hand and rubbed the seat. “Who owns this ride?”
	“I don’t know,” Tulip spat back as she pulled a switchblade from her coat pocket, activating the weapon to work beneath the wheel. “I peeped it parked here a few nights back. Haven’t seen the owner yet.”
	“Look at how fly this ride is! I haven’t seen anything like this since we went and saw that Ron O’Neal movie at the theater. That doesn’t give you pause? Check out the seat coverings. Wine-colored satin, T. How much do you think these cost to put in?”
	“More than the clothes on our backs combined I bet,” Tulip replied as she worked.
	In truth, it was the gaudy display the vehicle put on that inspired her to steal it. Who had the nerve to bring such a thing to her neighborhood? Nobody within five blocks could afford a tire for this car, let alone the whole Cadillac. Walking past it brought heat to Tulip’s ears. She didn’t care who owned it. She just knew it had to go.
	“I got a bad feeling about this one,” Oil said as he continued to admire the exquisite innards of the car.
	“Stop with the ‘bad vibes’ thing. Every time you do that it jinxes us,” Tulip said, fiddling with the wheel’s key slot. “If you speak bad shit into existence it comes true. You know?”
	“Ah, Tulip.”
	“No, listen to me. You got to change your look on life, baby.”
	“Tulip.”
	“See? I don’t think you’re digging on what I’m putting down. I care about you, Oil. You know that. I want you to want better for yourself. That dreary bad luck chuck shit is a slippery slope. You want to end up a junkie on the street cursing at God for all your misgivings? Because that’s where . . .”
	“Tulip!” Oil yelled, “Look!”
	“What?!” Tulip said as she looked back at her partner.
	Oil extended his index finger slowly yet with force. As Tulip turned to look out of the passenger’s side window she saw two menacing black barrels gazing back at her, their length cut shorter for a more deadly effect. The owner of the two malicious barrels was a stocky man in a mauve leisure suit with a brown lamb coat. He sported a perfectly round afro that connected to a pair of sharp sideburns. Tulip hadn’t noticed his matching apple cap until he inched down for a better view of the pair in the car.
	“Unlock the door or they’re going to be picking up pieces of your skull from across the street,” warned the man, his sawed-off double barrels tapping the window.
	Tulip gave Oil a hard frown. A scowl that said he had failed as a lookout. Their partnership had existed long enough to develop their own language based on facial ticks and body movements. A wrenching jerk at Oil’s jaw indicated he was sorry but Tulip waved it away as she opened the car door.
	“It is a brisk morning,” the gunman said as he closed the door behind himself. “And you know that feeling you get where you don’t want to get out of bed? The one where you’re nice and warm under some heavy covers?”
	A cold silence filled the car. Tulip held a hard stare while Oil looked between his partner and the sawed-off shotgun. The stocky man could see how nervous they were, but it intrigued him that the young woman could at least sit stone still.
	“Do you know who I am?” said the man as he cradled his gun. “My name is Kurtis Wodell. That’s Kurtis with a ‘K’, but you might know me by another name. Nothing too fancy. Most folks on Vine call me LP.”
	As if the wind had been knocked out of him, Oil released a heavy breath that was coupled with a low whine. Tulip kept her cool with the exception of a raised eyebrow, an involuntary action that let LP know she understood the situation.
	“That LP?” Tulip asked, failing to keep her voice steady.
	“The one and only. And this nice boss hog you’re ripping off was my brand-new ride. The ol’ lady I’ve been seeing upstairs really liked it too.”
	“It is a nice Cadi,” Tulip said. “So, how about you let us go and you won’t have to mess it up?”
	Tulip didn’t like the man’s grin. LP’s reputation was bad enough. It wasn’t a secret that he was muscle for a Kansas City numbers man. Or that LP was a cruel hood who delighted in the opportunity for violence. It was his grin that made the hair on her neck stand up. Stories and rumors were poor comparisons to seeing the beast in the flesh.
	“Or you could tell me your names?” LP replied.
	“I’m Tulip. Nervous cat in the back is my partner Oil.”
	“Oil?” LP repeated, shifting his gun to the new target. “You don’t look dark enough to earn that handle.”
	“Th . . . The . . . They uh,” Oil stuttered. “They call me Oil because . . . because . . .”
	“Because he’s slick behind the wheel,” Tulip finished.
	“That right? And yet you’re sitting behind it.”
	“Oil knows how to drive them but he doesn’t know how to hot wire them.”
	“I’m guessing he doesn’t talk much either?”
	“Actually, he talks too much,” Tulip said, looking at Oil from the rearview mirror. “He just has a thing about having guns pointed at him.”
	“Can’t blame him for that,” LP chuckled.
	There it was again. That grin. Despite it being a simple move of the mouth, It sounded off like an alarm that only Tulip could hear. LP was itching to do something nasty. Something malicious. Something violent.
	“Are you going to let us go?” Tulip asked.
	“I haven’t decided,” LP moaned as he gazed out the window. “It's really coming down out there. Gives me an idea.”
	Neither Tulip nor Oil had noticed the change in the weather until now. Both briefly peeled their eyes from LP and his double barrel to witness white flakes falling with speed and harshness. The wind whispered against the Cadillac as nature battered Pasell with snow. Even in the growing storm, it still appeared that nothing wanted to touch the clean car.
	“Come on, man. Just let us go!” Tulip fussed, getting tired of sitting in fear. “Asshole!”
	“Oh,” LP said, feigning hurt. “You got balls, huh?”
	“I don’t know about that but I know I’m tired of being here with this shit.”
	“Cool it, Tulip.”
	“You cool it, Oil!” Tulip spat back. “The faster we get on with this, the faster we can either rest in the dirt or get back to boosting rides. Whichever works for me because at least I won’t have to look at his fat face anymore!”
	Suddenly, LP’s grin disappeared. Tulip had besmirched his fun. She had rubbed his joy the wrong way. Now seriousness had replaced its vacant space. 
	“Alright,” LP said. “Start up my hog. I think I know what we’re about to do now.”
	“No,” Tulip said defiantly. “And you can go fu . . .”
	The click of the trigger seemed deafening but paled in comparison to the loud roar of the sawed-off’s barrel. He aimed low, buckshot ripping into the satin coverings. Tulip’s ears rang from the blast. Moments had passed before she could hear Oil’s crying. There he was hunkered to the side, his hands gripping a bloody gash at the waist of his flannel coat.
	“Hey!” LP yelled to cut his voice through the young woman’s shock. “I only nicked the little punk but I promise you the next shot will clear off the top of his natural if you do not start this cadi!”
	Quickly, Tulip went to work under the wheel. It took less than a minute for her to bring the vehicle to life. She then leaned back and stared at LP, barrel smoke rolling through the cold air between them. His grin had returned.
	“Well,” LP said as he turned on the car radio. “Go ahead and drive us west to Kansas.”
	Tulip grabbed the gear handle from behind the wheel and shifted the car into drive while LP tuned the radio in search of music. A high melody kicked in just as the young woman pulled from the curb.
	“Oh, I love this jam. If you dance to the music, you got to pay to the piper . . . Ask yo momma!” LP sang, his Cadillac and its passengers rolling through the growing white obscurity of cold and squall.
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
 
	Kansas City, Missouri slowly become a memory, its buildings and paved city streets fading away in the rearview mirror. White snow covered the open Kansas territory as more flakes continue to fall. Gone were the clubs, shops, and theaters found on Vine Street. Tulip saw nothing but cold pastures made dimmer by the unforgiving haze of the snowstorm. 
	“Alright,” LP said, after finishing off a rendition of “Love Child” by The Supremes. “Pull on over.”
	Tulip did as she was told. The Cadillac hummed as it sat idle, its white pristine body blending with the world around it. A suffocating silence filled the car with the exception of an odd low whistle. 
	“Huh,” LP grunted as he looked in the backseat. “Sounds like some of that buckshot went through.”
	“Anyway,” shrugged the gangster. “You two can get your asses out.”
	Tulip looked from the frigid wasteland that surround them to her wounded friend bleeding in the backseat. 
	“Are you serious?” Tulip sighed. “Even if you hadn’t peppered Oil, it would still be a rough walk out there! You expect us to survive that shit?!”
	“I don’t give a damn! You fools hopped in the wrong ride and now you got two options. A; you take your chances with the brisk stroll. Or, B; I kill you right now. At least one way you know you’re dead, you know. So, get out my car.”
	LP raised his sawed-off at Tulip to emphasize her options. The threat didn’t make her budge any more than the idea of possibly freezing to death made her sit still. She slid her hands into her coat and stared at LP, defiance eddying in her eyes. 
	“Oh,” he grinned. “We doing that again?”
	LP craned his shotgun to aim at Oil but before he could complete the motion, Tulip’s hand lunged from her pocket. The switchblade made a resounding click as it activated, and then a gruesome squish followed as its blade sank into the gangster’s gut. The sawed-off roared as LP reacted to being stabbed, obliterating the back driver’s side window. Quickly, Tulip stabbed again. Then a third time. She attempted a fourth attack but LP desperately grabbed her wrist, wild rage flashing in his eyes. 
	“Oil! Get up here!” Tulip yelled as she dove into the passenger’s seat, trying to put her weight behind another stab attempt.
	Oil whipped his arm around LP’s neck, but as he tried to choke the man he was rewarded with a savage bite to the forearm. 
	“Damn it!” Oil spat as he fell back. “Forget this.”
	Oil tightened up his coat and shook his head as he resolved himself to do what he did best, and jumped behind the wheel of the Cadillac. Oil yanked the gear into drive and shot Tulip a hard stare. No words transpired but she understood nonetheless. Tulip bore forward and opened the car door, taking a hefty kick to the chest from LP’s zipper boots as a riposte. Despite the harsh blow that sent his partner bumping into him, Oil still managed to drift the car across the icy road. 
	“Sonofab . . .” was all LP managed to say before he was flung from the satin seat of the vehicle. In a twisting blur of mauve and plush brown, he flew yards through the air and exploded into a snow bank. 
	“What do you think?” Oil whispered as he sat with his hands on the wheel and his foot hovering above the gas pedal.
	Tulip didn’t respond. Both sat and stared at where their enemy had disappeared, the cold winds offering the only sound between them besides the hum of the car. A minute passed without interruption before Oil took his eyes off of the vacant territory. LP’s nice apple cap had landed on the car floor and caught the young man’s attention with a smile.
	“Well,” Oil started as he grabbed and adjusted the hat on his head, gritting his teeth at the stinging pain at his waist. “I guess that’s that. Dig, this is still a fly ride even with the buckshot holes and the blood. Bet we could still get something decent for it.”
	“Yeah, Bernard never cared about blood before,” Tulip replied, her eyes still glued to the distant impact point. “No reason why he would care now.”
	Tulip closed the car door and smiled as Oil turned the car around and started their drive back to Kansas City proper. The snow thickened as it continued to fall, adding another layer of haze to the journey. Between nature and their relief, neither car thief noticed the stocky man in the rearview mirror as he popped up from a side ditch. The clean white Cadillac sped off and disappeared over the dark hazy horizon. LP picked up his sawed-off and found himself standing in the middle of the road as he watched his custom hog roll away.
	“Damn,” he whispered to himself as he tightened up his coat, focusing the coat’s belt on his wounds, and grinned. “Well, at least that was fun while it lasted.”
	LP tossed his gun into the open nearby tundra, its heavy metal disappearing under the endless white. He shrugged to himself and with a simple step, started his long walk back to Kansas City.
	“If you dance to the music!” he sang as he sauntered. “Then you gotta pay to the piper…….ask yo momma!”
 
End
 
","August 03, 2023 17:35","[[{'Susan Catucci': 'Loved this read, Gavin - you had me in the car for the entire ride.  Fully realized characters, plot, setting.  You are a seriously good writer.  Period.', 'time': '16:31 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Gavin Matthew': 'Thank you, Susan. I appreciate the compliment. Glad you were digging the ride.', 'time': '04:05 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Gavin Matthew': 'Thank you, Susan. I appreciate the compliment. Glad you were digging the ride.', 'time': '04:05 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I have been assigned your piece in the critique circle\n How do you critique perfection. You are already a pro. I am a beginner writer. All I can do is give a stamp of approval.🤩 Great thriller!\n\nTotally off subject but since you are a master at crime I am going to blow my own horn a bit 🥳.\nI wrote a novel in 2022 and am still working on getting it out there. The first 50 pages of my unpublished manuscript has won me a finalist spot for best western category for Killer Nashville The Claymore Award which celebrates thrillers and crime and mys...', 'time': '01:25 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Gavin Matthew': ""Oh! I do like a good western and I love good crime/drama! I look forward to reading them. I'll make a note and put it on my calender. \n\nHow far are you into officially publishing the manuscript?"", 'time': '01:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': ""The winner would get published and possibly a finalist could. They claim they want to see all finalists published. I have to beat out other western finalists and then 15 other categories. Chances are slim🥺.\nOtherwise I don't have it professionally edited or much else towards publication.Still learning.😁"", 'time': '03:20 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Gavin Matthew': ""Well, I always like to say at least it was an experience when I enter contests. Good luck with journey and I hope your story makes it through!\n\nAnd if it doesn't, you can still get it published yourself (pitch it or self-publish). Either way, keep writing. Writing is that happy place. Love it till the end of time. As long as you enjoy and feel for what you write then you are always winning in my book."", 'time': '04:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Gavin Matthew': ""Oh! I do like a good western and I love good crime/drama! I look forward to reading them. I'll make a note and put it on my calender. \n\nHow far are you into officially publishing the manuscript?"", 'time': '01:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""The winner would get published and possibly a finalist could. They claim they want to see all finalists published. I have to beat out other western finalists and then 15 other categories. Chances are slim🥺.\nOtherwise I don't have it professionally edited or much else towards publication.Still learning.😁"", 'time': '03:20 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Gavin Matthew': ""Well, I always like to say at least it was an experience when I enter contests. Good luck with journey and I hope your story makes it through!\n\nAnd if it doesn't, you can still get it published yourself (pitch it or self-publish). Either way, keep writing. Writing is that happy place. Love it till the end of time. As long as you enjoy and feel for what you write then you are always winning in my book."", 'time': '04:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""The winner would get published and possibly a finalist could. They claim they want to see all finalists published. I have to beat out other western finalists and then 15 other categories. Chances are slim🥺.\nOtherwise I don't have it professionally edited or much else towards publication.Still learning.😁"", 'time': '03:20 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Gavin Matthew': ""Well, I always like to say at least it was an experience when I enter contests. Good luck with journey and I hope your story makes it through!\n\nAnd if it doesn't, you can still get it published yourself (pitch it or self-publish). Either way, keep writing. Writing is that happy place. Love it till the end of time. As long as you enjoy and feel for what you write then you are always winning in my book."", 'time': '04:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Gavin Matthew': ""Well, I always like to say at least it was an experience when I enter contests. Good luck with journey and I hope your story makes it through!\n\nAnd if it doesn't, you can still get it published yourself (pitch it or self-publish). Either way, keep writing. Writing is that happy place. Love it till the end of time. As long as you enjoy and feel for what you write then you are always winning in my book."", 'time': '04:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,bzwlf6,Season's Greetings from U.S. Route 395 ,Todd Johnson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bzwlf6/,/short-story/bzwlf6/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
Darkness pursued us from the south like a helicopter, its blades rotating, tearing light from the sky in shreds as storm clouds hunched over the road. Reno’s neon stain receded behind us, and the bulge of US 395 propelled me ever closer to my birthplace, to Susanville.“—and when Jesus said: ‘Lazarus, come forth,’ the dead man rose!” My father slid his palms from the steering wheel and raised them, upturned and splayed wide as if supporting the weight of two massive hanging breasts. He studied my face a moment before urging: “You see?”I nodded to assure him I was listening until his head swung back to the windshield like the needle of a compass torquing to the north. The highway split, sending the left lane with its southbound traffic behind a ridge and veering out of sight. My father returned his hands to ten-and-two.“It’s only through the power of the Holy Ghost,” he continued, “and the saving grace of our Savior, who, being our Savior, saved us, so are we saved. Rescued from damnation by the shedding of Christ’s blood so that we might be returned to the fold from whence we were once severed and brought to live with and worship Father God in eternal heavenly splendor.”“Oh, right,” I said.“That’s why I’m able to see my mother’s passing as a testament to His enduring love and faithfulness in bringing His children, whom He cherishes regardless of their creed, age, sexual orientation or other transgressions, to a higher plane of harmony.”My father removed his garish yellow hat and beat it against the window on his left side, as if trying to force the thunderheads from the sky while they stalked across it. His hair swirled in a chock-a-block of gray.“Make no mistake, for son, Jesus can resurrect the dead. Do you not know that if it were in accordance with His will, which it ain’t, but if it was His will, He could bring her back this very instant, so great is His sovereign might? But your grandmother is resting in His arms now, which is His will, and there’s a lesson to be learned here as a result. Do you understand?”I told him that I did, although I had stopped trying to follow his logic at that point.“As believers, as those born again, son, we can find peace in Him, and place our trust in Him.” My father cleared his throat. “That’s my comfort in these hours, these times of mourning. That is our comfort. Mine, yours, and all of ours.”He replaced his hat as Beckwourth Pass went drifting through his reflection on the surface of the windshield and the desert landscape pulled itself near to the asphalt. Sand rattled in the chaparral, spilling across the highway’s single northbound lane. California wavered into view.We braked at the border as a patrol officer in a tan rain slicker stepped out of his roadside kiosk and gestured for us to stop. My father cranked his window down and the man leaned in, mirrored sunglasses inching down the protractor of his nose.“Afternoon,” his voice floated out, while his eyes chipped away at the interior of the truck’s cabin like twin chisels. “Or shee-eee-it, nearly dusk I guess.” He reentered the glassed-in booth, turned pages on a clipboard with feigned purpose, and fumbled beneath his protective gear for something to write with. “Do you have any produce to claim?” he asked, licking his lips as if the question were delicious.My father chuckled: “Just some Granny Smiths.”“Granny Smiths?” With his teeth he pried the cap from his pen and suspended it over the legal pad on his clipboard. “And just so that we’re on the same page, those are?”“Well, uh, green apples, of course,” my father replied, “but I brought these from Lassen County just this morning. Say, looks like rain a-coming our way for certain.”The officer snorted, glared at us over the rim of his Ray-Bans, drummed a slow and somber rendition of “Shave and a Haircut” on the clipboard with his pen, and waved us on.“Strange individual,” my father remarked, as he rolled the window up, passed the booth and crossed the border, and I thought these the most insightful words he’d uttered all day.The road poured out before us, California’s mountaintops slashing at the sky, and all at once—with an urgency I’d forgotten since the last time I’d seen it nearly ten years in the past—the forest rushed down from the foothills to cancel the desert. I felt Susanville, its dark tentacles probing the highway, seeking me out.“But,” he added, “I suppose one of the Lord’s children, too.""[*]Rain crashed headlong into the atmosphere and closed in around us as we passed Savoy Junction and the Feather River Byway. Earth deposits flushed across the gurgling concrete and broken noise pushed against the windows.Somewhere up ahead—perhaps in the condo she had shared with my Uncle Dwight and his on-again/off-again wife Diane during the last four months of her existence, before pneumonia took control and strangled the life from her—my grandmother’s ash remains waited in a cardboard urn. I wondered what they’d look like, clumpy or fine, if they’d have an odor akin to that of wood-smoke or an ashtray, or if I’d see her image form in the dust as it was dumped into whichever body of water her two sons had agreed upon.“Dad,” I said, “when are we going to do the spreading of grandma’s ashes?”“Well, my brother is the one handling the scheduling, but it’s pretty much set for Tuesday, so after Christmas.” As was his custom, he emphasized the “Christ” to make clear exactly whose birth he was celebrating and looked over at me with a slight grin. “You still working on that eulogy, huh, son?”“A little. I’m not finished yet.”“It’s really the only time the whole family will be in Susanville at the same time, Sten and Cecil included. Edith too, if she can unglue herself from Frankie for a few seconds. But he’s invited too, I suppose.”“Who’s Frankie?”“Edith’s boyfriend, obviously,” my father said. “Duh.”I guess she gave up on getting with Keanu Reeves, I thought. End of an era.“Your uncle Dwight will bring the urn on down from Chico, and we already decided on Susan River as the place to lay her ashes to rest. Go to that little restaurant across from the bowling alley afterward, probably. El Buen Burrito de Mexico or whatever it is they call it. Your grandmother loved Mexican food, so it only makes sense. You like it, huh, son?”“Mexican food. Yeah,” I said. “Del Taco.”My father said: “It will be like a family reunion kind of.""“On Tuesday.”“Haven’t had a get together like that for quite a while.”“Tuesday,” I said.“Haven’t been able to do it, since you don’t, uh, visit anymore, Not since that summer when you were fourteen.”“Fifteen,” I said. “Tuesday for the dedication, right?”“Tuesday.” He cleared his throat. “If not then, Wednesday.”“Wednesday? No, it has to be Tuesday.”“Huh, son? What are you talking about?”“You know that I’m driving home on Wednesday,” I said, “and I’m leaving early. Like four-in-the-morning early.”“Wait, you’re not gonna be here for New Years?”“I told you over the phone. I only have a week, and I have to be back for work Thursday morning. It was hard enough to get time off for Christmas. I made it a point to come for the dedication.”“Ri-i-i-i-ight,” my father said. “And I thought you came for the car your stepmother and I purchased for you.”“That, too,” I admitted.“Well, we worked around your schedule, son.”“Really? Because it doesn’t feel like you did.”My father squeezed my shoulder. “Regardless, I was hoping we could ring in the ol’ new Millennium together, son. I mean, two-triple aught, it’s a special event.”“Yeah,” I said. “But I have to go back. So, I’m going.”“Devine will be disappointed.”Right, I thought. I’m sure my bitch of a stepmother will be incon-fucking-solable.“Well, you won’t miss out, one way or another.” Gravel clattered in the wheel wells as my father eased the truck onto the highway’s shoulder and put it in park. “The ceremony surely will commence in a time that will not inconvenience everyone, all to the glory of God, and His glory will shine o’er the sorrow death doth bring to the doorstep of our hearts, for at that hour our mourning is no more, and her passage from this world to the heavenly plane is a new stage, a new chapter, a time for us to bask and bathe in the Redeemer’s glory anew.” He sighed, opened the truck’s door and swung one skinny leg out. “I gotta take a piss.”The engine sputtered and quaked, headlamps battering through the darkness gathering on the highway. My father ventured a few paces from the side of the road and into a blackness that spread over him like disfigured hands as the rain soaked away on the windshield, wiper blades squelching out their staccato beat.Finishing with a quick two-step, my father bounded back to the truck, the blue polo shirt he wore—with his first initial, Q, embroidered over the left breast pocket—clinging to his aged body.“Whooo-wee! Looks like you brought the bad weather with you, son,” he said, as he slid into his seat and pulled the door closed behind him. “I haven’t seen it rain like this all year, but if you’re hoping for some snow this Christmas, weather like this here is a good indication we may get a dusting yet.” He shook his hat out, spraying water across the steering column, rivulets flowing down the wrinkled flesh of his arms with their bruises, scars, swollen veins and tangles of white hair.“Whooo-wee!” he exclaimed again, throwing in a shiver that appeared to be purely theatrical in nature.I told him it had been snowing when I landed.“Huh, son? A-snowing where?”“In Reno.”“No,” he said.“I saw it from the plane.”My father coughed. “Ri-i-i-i-ight, the plane. It’s been snowing for weeks up in the mountains and the outskirts but hasn’t hit Susanville just yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”“I wouldn’t mind a white Xmas,” I said, and regretted it at once. I had never considered using the abbreviation before—verbally or otherwise—and had no idea what had compelled me to employ it.My father’s eyes widened, and I saw red striae emerge from behind the collar of his shirt and ascend the cords in his neck as his voice rose against me in anger for the first time in close to a decade, when he’d caught me scrawling NATAS on the canvas of my high-top sneakers. He slammed his hat against the dashboard where it ricocheted off, hooking around the gearshift, and I could almost sense the moisture on his skin sizzling and turning to vapor.“Xmas!” he spat. “I can barely bring myself to repeat it. Have you not been listening to a thing I’ve said?”Isn’t that obvious? I thought.“Christmas, son! Christ! Without Christ—Jesus Christ—and the miracle of His birth, this holiday is empty. Worthless and commercial and entirely without meaning. If not for the womb of the Virgin Mary bringing Him as an infant onto this earthly plane, plus His crucifixion which was preordained on that fateful Bethlehem night, where would we be? Where do you think we’d be?”“I don’t know,” I said.“Hell!” my father bellowed. “Hell is where we’d be! Gnashing our teeth in the bowels of eternal fire while the Prince of Darkness stokes the mothering flames!”He pinned me with his eyes, the sound of rain pummeling the roof like metallic applause. The breakdown lane flooded, the road sloshed, the forest shook up and down the mountains.“Must have heard that from your mother, huh, son?” my father said, the brimstone fading from his voice as he averted his face. “Just utter disregard for the most significant element of this holiday’s title in order save a few seconds. That sounds like Joyce to me.”“I don’t know, Dad. I mean, it’s a common expression.”“Figures. The world we live in now, I suppose, huh, son?”“Yeah, I guess.”My father cleared his throat and sniffed once. “Just,” he said, “don’t be unmindful of His sacrifice. Remain pure, I beseech you, in your heart and mind, like I am. I pray that I might be an example to you, a model for how to live a holy existence, for there’s no greater calling than that which comes by way of servitude, and we all must aspire to that.”He shifted the truck into first gear and lurched back onto US 395, the headlight beams shuddering across the asphalt. Illuminated shards of rain fired through the downpour like glowing bullets.“Jesus Christ,” my father said.“Huh?”“Remember what He did for you, son. His life for all of our sins. Remember the sacrifice that He made for you.”“Yeah,” I replied.[*]We passed through the town of Doyle, smudged and nearly lost to the pull and suck of the rain, over Herlong Junction and past the Sierra Army Depot and training camp, where networks of yellow light squirmed in the fields and gunfire cracked the frame of the sky. Distorted noise roiled around us as Last Chance Creek lashed at the highway, and Honey Lake hauled its basin in from the darkness of prairies thrashing in the storm.My father took the exit for Janesville, and we followed South Church Street to the Pilot service station. He handed me thirty dollars to fill the gas tank, and as I returned from paying the spectral, green-visored attendant, I watched my father lift a squeegee from its plastic trough and study the rubber blade. He’d donned his hat once more but had reversed it, and tucked silver strands of hair behind the sweatband with one hand while brandishing the dripping instrument with his other.“Why even bother?” I asked, seeking shelter beneath the pump’s concrete canopy. I could smell the caustic stench of petrochemicals curling up from the pavement as the wind boxed and shoved the rain around. “The windows are already clean from the storm.” Seeming unable to hear me over the downpour, my father smacked the sponge against the windshield, smearing dirty water across its surface. He raised the arms of the wiper blades and scrubbed furiously beneath them, as if taking umbrage against filth that was both impervious to a combination of soap with liquid and invisible to the untrained eye.When finished, he replaced the squeegee and looked in my direction, although his eyes appeared to steer beyond me and veer off into the rain.“My hands are dirty,” he said.All fervor and evangelical bluster had departed his speech, and the lost childlike quality of his voice sent a chill rocketing up and down my spine. Lyrics from a Nina Simone song my grandmother used to croak while “gimping around”—as I’d often heard her refer to it—in her kitchen stole across my brain, laced with a sense of déjà vu:Let the wind blo-o-o-o-owThrough your heartThe lines surrounding my father’s mouth twitched once, twice, and suddenly he grabbed the handle of the squeegee, flung it over one shoulder, and plunged both hands into the trough, submerging them deep as possible. Black washing fluid spilled onto the cement as he worked his arms back and forth, gritting his teeth and grunting with the effort, before yanking them out and rubbing his speckled palms together. He wiped his hands on his shirt, dead insects falling at his feet as the squeegee tumbled across the parking lot and went skittering into the intersection.“Well, son of mine,” my father said, eyes snapping back to focus on me and the deep register of his diction sliding back into place.“You okay, Dad?”“Huh, son?”“Is everything okay?”“Yeppers,” he said. “So go on ahead and pump premium. The holy Pastoralist, He hath created high grade petroleum for the benefit of His flock.”He planted one moist, grimy hand on my shoulder, clamped down, and used his other to tousle my hair.[*]Looming before us—scratching its cold vinyl against the clouds—the Diamond Mountain Range ripped the storm apart. With one great swooooosh we were squeezed out into a clear, wet scene. Above us, the glittering baldachin of the stars expelled smudges of ashy light, and my father switched the windshield wipers off, muttering: “The Lord is good.”The arterial roads of Buntingville pumped black concrete into the vein of the highway unfurling in front of us, and my father sunk one elbow into my ribs. “We’re almost there,” he said, like an excitable child. “See? Johnstonville.”I traced the knurls and knobs of his outstretched index finger to a huddle of structures on the horizon, darkened and secretive behind a copse of wasted roadside trees.“Johnstonville,” I repeated. “Yeah, I see it.”My father brought the flat of his greasy hand down against the steering wheel, striking it twice. The orange light in the gauge housing trembled. “And after Johnstonville, after that—”From beyond the blacked-out buildings and grottos of Johnstonville, a phosphorescent glow began its slow pulsating, and I imagined before me a colossal xylophone piecing together, its colored bars ringing and sending mangled notes across the sky.After that, my mind insisted, comes Susanville.“—after that, son, we’ll be there.”
","August 03, 2023 20:34","[[{'Nesa Johnson': 'I really enjoyed the characters and the dialogue. That, along with the vivid descriptions, really made the story come to life for me. Great work.', 'time': '03:57 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Todd Johnson': 'Thank you for taking the time to read the story and for your feedback, Nesa! I appreciate it!', 'time': '08:14 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Todd Johnson': 'Thank you for taking the time to read the story and for your feedback, Nesa! I appreciate it!', 'time': '08:14 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,rksiu9,The Western Highway,Ian Patterson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rksiu9/,/short-story/rksiu9/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],8 likes,"
The plains of Kansas stretched out before Julio.  He looked at his speed, he looked at the time, he looked at the road.  He unfocused his eyes, and then refocused them.  Fuck I hate this place, he thought.  The drive from the east coast of the United States was criminally boring, but the mountains of Colorado loomed in the distance.  He ached for the natural beauty, the refined air, the beautiful stream and mountain passes.  Not that he’d explore anything beyond his car, he wasn’t insane.  The scenery tempted him more every year, and for a decade he had spent his summers basking in that desire.  
 
One day, when I’m near death, maybe I’ll really step Outside there.  He dreamed of it, the smells and sounds, the lack of walls surrounding him, but it was a pipe dream.  No one in his generation left their vehicles anymore; well no one that didn’t have to.  Of course, the poor had jobs on the Outside, and some of them didn’t even have money for climate suits.  He’d heard stories that the very poor wandered the countryside like bandits, drinking unfiltered water from streams and growing vegetables, or made permanent Outdoor homes.  No one expected that they lived very long.
 
A road sign breezed by advertising power refills, water refills, and black tank emptying.  His levels would be fine until the border, and he hated the idea of staying longer on these roads than he had to.  He kept moving.
 
–
 
Three centuries ago, a small Russian border conflict had attracted the attention of the world’s most powerful nations.  Tensions escalated, and soon these nations were wrapped into the conflict.  Two schools of thought exist around what happened next; some think nuclear conflict could have been avoided if a policy had been enacted at the right time, and others think the Sword of Damocles always had to fall.  History doesn’t care, it happened.
 
In the span of half an hour, most of the world’s population was decimated.  In the weeks that followed, radiation poisoning killed more.  A decade of nuclear winter, caused by all the soot released into the atmosphere, wrecked crops globally, and famine was widespread.  Another decade of nuclear summer followed, temperatures intensifying globally from the massive concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane.  Very few survived these years, and living conditions were unforgiving.
 
But underground, in bunkers built years before the first bombs fell, people thrived.  Starting in the early 21st century, governments had begun investing in long-term living solutions in case of climate or nuclear disasters.  These self-contained units grew crops, expelled waste, purified fresh air, and cleaned water from the aquifers they were built near.  They had doctors, and medical supplies.  Hardlined communications were created to other bunkers in case of broad wireless system failures.  As tensions rose globally, governments secreted some of the population down in these centers.  Of course, they primarily picked from those highly educated; minority populations were barely represented, and a large percentage of politicians were chosen.
 
This group of survivors became the new human race.  Several generations were born in the confines of these bunkers, and to them the space didn’t feel as claustrophobic.  Technology development had continued, and engineers from around the globe worked together to create a suite of technologies to allow people to leave their confines.  A century after the first bombs fell, doors swung open on bunkers around the world, and construction started on the first Ecosystem Cars.
 
–
 
Julio pulled into the fill station, it was the first one across the border.  He stopped his vehicle in a stall, and put the lights on to indicate that he needed a full service.  An attendant walked over; every inch of his oversized climate suit was covered in bright brand logos and advertisements.  The suit resembled historical pictures of diving gear, but was more loose fitting than a wet suit.  An air purifier sat on the attendant’s back, with a hose going into a gas mask.  The suit was covered with small, localized air conditioning units to withstand the extreme heat.
 
The attendant hooked his vehicle to the charger, and inserted the bi-directional pump that removed waste and filled fresh water simultaneously.  These facilities usually supplied their energy from a local solar farm, and processed waste into clean drinking water on site.  When the job was complete, the attendant scanned the barcode on the back of his car, and knocked on the rear window before they walked away.  Julio noticed that most of the advertisements on their suit were for a local Love Hotel called Desert Oasis.  People would meet in these sealed bunkers for a night of revelry, but Julio had no idea who was doing that in this wasteland.  
 
Julio steered back onto the highway to continue the drive west.  Mountains loomed in the distance with an unforgiving finality.
 
–
 
The centuries following the opening of the bunkers were known as The Great Migration.  As the infrastructure expanded along the antiquated highway system, people struck out in their self-contained ecosystems.  Some of them left as families, but most chose a nomadic life in solitude.  Wireless communication networks were re-established, and people drifted further from physical interactions.  Still, population numbers slowly climbed as new families formed on the road.
 
In the beginning of the great migration period, there was no formal economy.  People traded locally in skilled labor and bartered crops grown in different bunkers, but all necessities were available to each person.  As the transportation and infrastructure needs of this new society grew however, so did the industry alongside it.  Fifty years after the start of the great migration, an economy and international currency had been established, and the trends of socio-economic stratification started again.  Within the next fifty years, this had forced humanity into a caste system where it was nearly impossible to ascend.
 
–
 
Julio ended the trip in the remnants of an old town, the map called it Crested Butte.  This was the same destination as every year, the road ended in a valley surrounded completely by steep mountain faces.  The terrain was extreme and uninviting, and the closest fill station was far back on the main highway.  Here was complete solitude.
 
On the drive here through Old Denver he’d parked next to one of the city parks while he ate lunch.  It was now completely overgrown, but some of the old charm remained.  Giant elms dominated everything else in the park, and chest high weeds choked the field.  To his astonishment, Julio watched a deer stop and graze for several minutes at the edge of the park; it was seemingly there just for him.  Suddenly, the deer spooked, and he caught something else moving in the park, but it was obscured.
 
Julio drove deeper into the park, and through a gap in the weeds he could see two small homes and a large greenhouse.  There was a man standing in the clearing Outside the greenhouse.  He was tall, and covered in black dirt up to his elbows, and was shirtless.  His skin was ravaged by the sun, but otherwise he looked healthy.  Julio wondered why this scene was so strange, and then in a flash realized the man wasn’t wearing a climate suit.  He’s going to die before he sees anything from that greenhouse, he thought, but to his astonishment his skin showed no signs of radiation poisoning.  Quietly, Julio reversed out of the interior of the park, and without looking back he drove away as fast as he could.
 
Shaking the memory from his mind, Julio kept moving towards his camp.
 
–
 
It was night, and Julio had parked his car in a field at the edge of the old town.  By pressing a few buttons, the interior space of the vehicle had converted to a spacious bedroom, and the screens on all the walls displayed the images behind them.  It gave the appearance of being in a completely translucent dome; there was endless night sky in every direction.  The stars slowly drifted, and Julio made up patterns in his mind between them.  In those patterns, his mind drifted.
 
He dreamt that he was Outside, walking up the hillside with the sun blazing down.  The tall grass felt soft and friendly against his bare legs; he heard bees humming somewhere nearby.  At the top of the hill he saw the deer from earlier, it was drinking from a stream and looked at him as he approached, but it wasn’t scared.  He was transfixed, and he approached the deer with an outstretched hand.  He stroked the deer’s fur, it was coarse like twine.  
 
And then he noticed red welts appearing on the deer where he’d touched it.  The deer cried out in pain as the welts spread across its body in a flash.  Julio looked at his hand and saw the same welts extending up his arm.  Radiation sickness he thought, the panic racing through him.  He swiped at the sores with his other hand but saw them extending up that arm too.  Blood was pounding in his ears; he watched the deer collapse in front of him and then sank to his knees.  The pounding in his head intensified; he covered his face with his hands and wept.
 
Sunlight drenched him; it streamed in through every window and filled the vehicle like a warm blanket.  His eyes darted to check his arms; it was just a dream, he concluded.  But then the pounding continued, and he realized it wasn’t in his head, but on the window.
 
A woman’s tanned face was pressed against the window, the loose curls of her chestnut brown hair splashing across it.  She had one hand cupped against her face to block the sun, and the other raised to knock again.  Her eyes were like chipped jade, and when they locked with Julio’s she smiled radiantly.  He was paralyzed in her gaze.
 
“Hi there, sorry to wake you, but only it’s already midday and I got tired of waiting for you to wake up and I was just so excited to see another human that I just couldn’t wait, you know what I mean?  It really is beautiful out here, and you wouldn’t believe how good it smells.  I mean, who knew the Outside could smell like this? And there’s so many sounds, the nights are really alive!”
 
She paused and took a deep breath, composing herself.
 
“Sorry, that was a bit too much.  I’ve come here for a long time and never seen anyone else.  Did you know the radiation dissipated years ago?  Some places still have small traces, but not enough to drastically shorten life expectancy.  The data has been there for years, but our generation grew up in the specter of it, and we’re too damn scared to think the world could be safe.  I know I was, it took me a year here before I was brave enough to take my climate suit off.  This zone is completely free of radiation; it’s safe to go Outside, the water is clean, even the soil is fine for growing crops.”
 
To prove this to him, she reached down and held up an old geiger counter and turned it on.  It didn’t register anything.  Julio stared at the indicator dial, waiting for it to move and tell him the climate was poisoned and this girl was going to die.  He kept staring at the gauge as she continued to speak.
 
“I’ve built a small hut back in the trees, right on top of that hill.  If you want to come Outside, there’s a place you could sleep.  I know this is a lot to process, but if you decide to not come out yet can I come back tomorrow to talk?”
 
Julio nodded, barely.  
 
“Till later, then.  My name’s Doe, by the way.”  She waved and then walked away.  Julio stared at her skin, beautiful and clear of sickness.  She disappeared into the trees, and Julio shifted his gaze to her hand print left on the window.
 
He stared at that hand print for the rest of the day, dreaming of possibilities.  When he closed his eyes he saw her clear skin moving away from him through the tall grass.  
 
–
 
In one universe Julio had the courage to leave his car.  He trusted her readings, and went Outside.  It was beautiful, and perfect, and real.  In that universe he fell in love with Doe, and they built a home together.  They were the start of a community that lived Outdoors, and news spread steadily across the world.  It inspired others to go Outside, and other safe places were found.  Like a boulder rolling downhill, civilization gained momentum.  Julio died an old man, surrounded by his family, and was buried in the earth.
 
Julio could taste the sweetness of that, even in this life.  He saw it as he drove back down the highway out of town.  Days later, he could feel it when he’d put his hand over her hand print.  At the next major stop he paid for a car wash.  Tears streamed down his face as he watched the foaming chemicals wipe out the memory.  The next day was new, and he chose a new road.
 
","August 04, 2023 00:29","[[{'Myranda Marie': ""Well done. I couldn't help casting the movie version in my mind as I read. I'm thinking Adam Rodriguez as the lead. The premise is chilling, and all too possible."", 'time': '17:48 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ian Patterson': 'Wow, thank you for reading and imagining!  That means a lot.', 'time': '00:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ian Patterson': 'Wow, thank you for reading and imagining!  That means a lot.', 'time': '00:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Very atmospheric.  Nice job.', 'time': '01:07 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ian Patterson': 'Thank you!', 'time': '00:04 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ian Patterson': 'Thank you!', 'time': '00:04 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ob6rbe,The Detour,Mira Lundy Cain,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ob6rbe/,/short-story/ob6rbe/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Speculative', 'Urban Fantasy']",8 likes,"
Neither of them could remember when the fog had set in. Was it before or after the car had veered off the shoulder? Had they seen it as they careened down the crumbling slope to where they were now? As they drove through a labyrinth of residential streets, it appeared to Douglas that they might never find their way back to the main road, the one which led out to the coastal town where they would kick off the first week of their retirement.“Take that turn, we haven’t been that way before.” Maribel issued the edict with a confidence Douglas couldn’t fathom. He was unable to distinguish between the blocks of empty, identical houses boring evenly down both sides of the road. The suburb, evidently a new and as-yet uninhabited development, seemed as unvaried as it was endless.The slowly thickening fog was no help either. Fed up, Douglas pulled over to the side of the road. “Are we out of gas?” asked Maribel.“No, I’m just tired of driving through this maze, and I don’t want to get us in even more trouble. We should wait for the fog to clear.” Douglas massaged his chest with one hand, a habit he’d developed after his first heart attack. It seemed improbable to him that their bumpy trip off the shoulder had left them so utterly uninjured. Perhaps they had both been hit in the head. That would certainly explain why it appeared to be taking them all afternoon to escape a subdivision.They sat there in silence, peering into the blanket of white which hung heavy and motionless around the car. After a few moments, Maribel’s expression brightened and she pointed to a figure—a blurry smear of motion—ahead of them on the road.“There we go, Douglas, roll over to the big guy over there and ask how we get out of here.”Douglas put the car in gear and rolled down his window as they approached the figure. As they approached, they could see that it was not so much a big guy as a young-ish person with a big backpack. Maribel couldn’t help calling out, as the hitchhiker resembled so many of her students. “Are you hitchhiking all by yourself out here, honey?”“If you could spare a ride, I know the fastest way out of this fog.”“Deal” said Douglas, reaching back and popping open the rear passenger door of the old sedan. “We’ll take you as far as the main road, if you can get us there, kiddo.”The hitchhiker hopped into the back and thanked the couple. “I’m older than I look, actually.” Douglas chuckled. “Well, you sure look younger than us, Maribel excepted of course.” Maribel had raised a warning finger at her spouse. “Good save Douglas.” Turning in her seat, she looked over her spectacles at their guest and added “We’re all the same age in this car.” The hitchhiker nodded attentively.“You’re still in college then?” Maribel asked.“No, I work full time. Except for today. It’s been about a thousand years since I took a day off.”“Oh, you poor thing. What do you do?”“Human services, basically a lot of getting people to places. Well, really, it’s all the same place.” Here the hitchhiker seemed to want to trail off, but Douglas cut in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”“Well, people don’t always want to get where they’re going, you know.”Douglas peered into the rearview mirror with his eyebrows raised until Maribel intervened. “I see what you mean dear. Like an institutional driver, to hospitals or prisons, Douglas.” She whispered the latter institution as though it were a curse.The hitchhiker smiled apologetically. “My work can be very rewarding. I see a lot of people in the worst moments of their lives, and I like to think I’m taking them someplace where they can put that all behind. The pay is steady, too. I get paid per mouth.”“Per month, you mean?”“Sorry, per capita. Per person, I guess. The pay’s alright. But the expectations sometimes get to me. Constant availability. Always a standard of perfection.”“Sounds like you have a tough boss.” Douglas said this with a hint of approval, as though having a tough boss were a mark in favour of their guide’s character.“I guess in a way it’s my own fault. Sometimes, I feel like human society would completely fall apart if I skipped out for a day. That’s why I like to take some time away now and then, just to remind myself that a little variety won’t throw the universe off balance.”“That’s right.” Maribel smiled, “You know, that’s something I had to learn from my students. Young people have such a healthy outlook on work. Much more than we did.”“We grew up tougher, no offense to you, kid.” Douglas said, “Working hard will do more for you than sitting around sharing your feelings all day like they do in the colleges nowadays.” Maribel tutted. “They’re wiser than you think, Douglas. You bottle it up all those years and that’s why you have high blood pressure. There’s no shame in sharing your feelings.”“Bottled up feelings can have all kinds of consequences around here. Draws the wrong kind of attention.” The hitchhiker seemed to be about to elaborate but stopped after catching Douglas’ expression in the rearview mirror.“You trying to teach me something, kid?” Douglas growled, holding his scowl until Mirabel hissed at him to knock it off. The hitchhiker didn’t respond.They rode on for some time, the hitchhiker gesturing for Douglas to turn this way or that, seemingly impervious to the heavy fog. The fog, for its part, had grown so dense that Douglas worried that he might roll the car right over the curb. Maribel, looking out the passenger window, could make out other figures, shadowy and distorted in the haze.“Who would be outside in this weather?” She chuckled, shaking her head. “At least they’re not driving.”“They can’t.” The hitchhiker said this with a sad smile. “They’d be just as lost as you were, without a guide.”“You seem to know the way” remarked Douglas.“Oh yes, this subdivision is part of my usual route. But it’s always low visibility for anyone who isn’t—” here, the hitchhiker stammered, “in my position.”Suddenly, one of the dark shapes in the distance appeared to grow bigger, moving with a fluidity that, to Douglas, suggested a vehicle. The shape moved in and out of his sight, as though it were driving behind a row of oddly shaped columns. But Douglas saw no columns in the fog.“Well, someone seems to be driving. He looks like he’s got his lights off, too. Idiot.”For the first time, the hitchhiker’s facial expression turned to one of concern. “Just keep going straight ahead. Faster, please, if you can.”Douglas began to sweat. The shadowy vehicle—or whatever it was—stuttering in and out of view reminded him, inexplicably, of the way the light from the street used to flicker from behind the blinds in his childhood bedroom at night.The memory was dizzying and seemed to flash into the forefront of Douglas’ mind every time he looked at the formless shadow now keeping pace with the sedan. Arms shaking, Douglas began to weave dangerously, causing Maribel to place a hand on the steering wheel. As it got closer, it appeared to Douglas that whatever it was must have been smaller than a car. Smaller, even, than a motorcycle. He wouldn’t have taken it for a vehicle at all were it not for its speed. It appeared to be accelerating.The hitchhiker peered out at the other driver with narrowed eyes, then began to speak absently, as though struggling to remember something. “People get seriously lost around here, and lost people get desperate, follow anyone who seems a little more... alive to where they're going. Anyone who might seem familiar. If you’re not careful, you could wander out of the fog and end up anywhere. Times Square. The bottom of the sea. A lightbulb in an old streetlamp that won’t stop flickering.” The last item drew a confused laugh out of Mirabel before she turned back towards her husband.“Douglas, get a hold of yourself.”Douglas tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw set. He had never told anyone, aside from his mother, about the lamp post on Charleston Street, visible from the window of his childhood bedroom. The lamp had started flickering just a few days after his brother James had died, and for years, Douglas had imagined that it was his brother’s way of letting him know that he was there. When he had told her about it, Douglas’ mother had said nothing. She only sighed, and looked at him with an expression of what he took to be pity, perhaps mixed with disgust. He had never dared tell anyone else.In fact, Douglas might have given this childish imagining no further thought had it not been for the flickering shadow, still tailing them through the fog. That, and the hitchhiker’s manner of speech. Douglas could not see how the hitchhiker could know about James, let alone about how Douglas’ youthful imagination had interpreted the flickering light outside his window. Yet something about the whole situation filled Douglas with unease even as he reproached himself for the feeling. To Douglas, the speaker’s voice rang with a truth that he could not accept without losing his mind. He floored the gas pedal.""Did I disturb you, Douglas?"" The young face seemed genuinely contrite, as though the hitchhiker understood Douglas' increasing discomfort. “I’m just keen to get out of this fog.” That much was true.The shadow followed, always an unintelligible shape, buried just far enough in the fog that Douglas couldn’t tell what he was looking at, always flickering in and out of view in the pattern that he remembered so well.“Why won't he stop following us?” Douglas hissed.“He might be hoping that we lead him to the main road” said the hitchhiker with concern. “Or perhaps he just wants some attention.” With that, the hitchhiker rolled down the window and, tilting his head away from the rearview mirrors, made some inaudible signal to the other car.“Can he see you?” asked Douglas incredulously.“I'm not hard for him to see. There, he’s giving us more space now. Just keep at this pace, Douglas. We’ll be out soon.” And so it was. After what felt like ten or fifteen minutes at the quickest pace the old sedan could safely muster, the flickering shadow rolled out of sight for the last time, and Douglas slowed the car down. They drove on like that, the hitchhiker only breaking the silence to point out the next turn, until they emerged from the fog.For the first few minutes, they cruised through the afternoon sunlight in silence. Neither Douglas nor Maribel remarked on the familiarity of the road now clearly visible before them. But when the sedan breezed past the curled edges of a broken highway barrier, neither could remain silent.“But that’s where we went through!” said Douglas, running a hand through his thinning hair.“Just look at that drop” Maribel rolled down the window to get a better look at the steep cliff-face. “I’m surprised the car made it down in one piece, let alone us. I can’t even see the subdivision from up here!”“Most people wouldn’t make it back after a drop down that cliffside” confessed the hitchhiker. “Now that we’re on the main road, would you mind dropping me off here?”Maribel glanced back in surprise. “We’re far from the nearest town.”The hitchhiker smiled. “That’s fine with me. I suspect our friend from the fog might be coming up the road soon and might need some directions home.” The hitchhiker’s smile was the last thing Douglas and Maribel saw in their rearview mirror as they turned the corner and began the rest of their journey.“You know, you could have been nicer to the person who was helping us get back on our way.” Maribel’s reproachful tone was as familiar to Douglas as her face.“I wasn’t rude.”“You were so terse. What on earth set you off like that? Your teeth are probably ground to sawdust.” “He was talking about people getting lost and ending up in a lamppost.”Maribel looked like she might be about to crack a joke at Douglas’ expense, but when he glanced at her from the driver’s seat, she could see that his cheeks were wet. There was a lengthy silence.“There was a lamppost outside of my window, which started buzzing and flickering after James died. I thought…” Douglas trailed off. “I thought the lamp was a sign from him. I didn’t tell anyone because I knew it was stupid. I only realized it had stuck with me when the hitchhiker said someone might get lost and end up in the lamppost. I thought of James. That car in the shadows, I know what it sounds like, but it flickered the same. In that fog, I just had that feeling again that it might be him. It came up, that feeling that I thought I buried.”Maribel sighed and rubbed Douglas’ arm. “Besides, Maribel, the kid was smirking the whole time like there was some grand joke we weren’t part of.”“Not the whole time,” began Maribel, “but I see what you mean. Well, next time, try not to drive us off the road and get us lost.”“That’s a promise.”“And stop bottling up your feelings. Or it’ll be the death of us.”“I’ll try.”As they made another turn, Douglas noticed something glinting in the rearview mirror. A foreign coin of unknown denomination had slid across the backseat. A souvenir.
","August 04, 2023 01:09","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'That was fun.  At first I thought Mirabel and Douglas were being ushered to the afterlife, but they were being rescued, right?  Was the hitchhiker an angel, or a guide for the lost?  Was the housing survey purgatory, or hell?  What did they do right that allowed them to be saved.  Were they saved?  So many questions!  I assume you left it up to the reader to interpret.  Like I said, fun!  Thanks for this!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,flufvw,Late Night Gas Stop,Alexander Hanna,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/flufvw/,/short-story/flufvw/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Sad']",8 likes,"
	With the sun falling below the horizon, despair and awe filled the young woman as the warm shades of twilight lining the thin-streaking clouds faded into the country silhouette. The interstate was quiet. Only a few lonely headlights were still out. The hills arched in the distance while beams of sunlight peaked their way through to reflect off a group of still wind turbines. In the driver’s seat next to her, a man looked out his window at a farmhouse in ruins. Sizeable portions of its white paint had peeled off, revealing its brown underside. Shingles had fallen off the farmhouse in large patches and the roof on one side of the veranda had collapsed. The windows and front door were gone, leaving only desolate black rectangles in their place. Something blue flashed by on the right shoulder and then quickly disappeared.
	“Shoot. I think that sign said a gas station was coming up.” He glanced at the gas gauge. “I’m just gonna get off at the next exit.”
	“Are we almost out?”
	“About a quarter tank left.”
	“What if there’s no gas station at the next exit?”
	“Can you check on your phone to see if there is one?”
	The young woman lifted her smartphone from her lap and opened the screen with her thumb fingerprint. She typed, “gas station” into the search bar of the map app, and multiple white gas pumps inside red circles appeared on her screen. She looked at their blue dot on the interstate and then ahead to where one of the white gas pumps was on the screen.
           “Okay so there’s an exit coming up. And then it’s the one after that.”
            “So the second exit?”
            “Yeah,” she said through a yawn. A few moments later: “How long until we get to my parents’ house?” she asked.
	He twisted his smartphone in its holder so she could see the screen. A blue circle inside a white circle sped along a blue line. She pinched her thumb and index finger together to zoom out. At the end of the blue line was a red marker. For a couple of seconds, she stared at the red marker as a warm feeling surfaced on her cheeks and the corners of her lips moved slightly upwards. Near the bottom of the screen, yellow letters read, “5 hr 2 min.” 
	She spun his smartphone holder back around to face him and murmured, “I might close my eyes for a little bit then.”
            “I’ll turn the music off if you’re gonna sleep,” he offered.
            “No. You can keep it on.”
            The soft sound of an alternative band from the early 2000s wafted through the speakers. The young woman reached beside her and reclined the electronic seat. Turning on her side, she gazed up through the backseat window at the changing, infinite sky. The emptiness of it all brought to scope the isolation humanity endures within existence and the frustrating madness of our lives. Way out in the distance, between a group of twisting pink clouds floating close to the horizon, a pair of blinking lights illuminated by the creeping darkness captured her eyes. Her throat tightened as she watched them cut through the half-light, charging towards the sinking sun; suddenly, a flood of painful awareness concerning her own insignificance in the world came over her. She thought of how her life was just one among many billions, and when given enough time how she would grow old, die, and be lost to the past like every living being that came before her and would come after her.
	“Can you turn the heat up?” she asked despondently as she crossed her arms to keep warm.
	 His fingers turned the dial, and she focused on the pleasant sound of heat rushing out from the vents.
	“Is that good?” he asked.
	“Yes. Thank you,” she mumbled. She tilted her head down, and using her knuckles as a pillow, went to sleep.
	The young man looked over at her glossy hair, knowing she didn’t feel well. Something about the nighttime always brought her spirit down. He stared at the passing white dashes on the road, trying to think of different ways to make her feel better, but nothing came to mind.
            At the second exit, the young man got off the interstate and drove down a long, curved road. He stopped at a red light at the bottom of the hill and spotted to his left the gas station's bright lights. A plastic bottle rolled through the street as he turned and drove under the interstate.
	Coming out from under the overpass, through his window in the distance, a thin bar of orange was being pushed below the horizon by the falling stars.
	Pulling into the gas station, not a single bump, crack, or pothole was felt under the tires. New paint glistened under the bright overhead lights while the brick convenience store gave the place a feeling of wealth among country poverty.
	He admired the newness of the gas station as he parked next to a pump. “And people say fossil fuels are on their way out,” he mumbled to himself, chuckling.
	The Q3 was turned off and the heat from the vents abruptly stopped, leaving the melancholic sound of nothing permeating throughout the interior. The wind bashed against the windows, and when he opened his door, the crisp night air flooded in. A cool gust of wind swooshed down into his hoodie, creating a gap between skin and cotton that puffed up like a balloon.
	Outside the Q3, the young man looked around the gas station while the wind blew in his ear. No other cars were there. The pump buzzed as the gasoline made its way through the hose and into the tank. Through the front doors of the store he could see the clerk absorbed in her smartphone. In one of the windows, a poster advertised a new, all-day spicy breakfast burrito for only $4.99. Adjacent windows had neon signs advertising light beers, hard seltzers, and Marlboros. An electronic sign announced that the Powerball was up to $774 million.
	While waiting, he inhaled a smell similar to cotton candy. He looked around to see where the smell was coming from. Across the street, the lone profile of a dark figure walked along the side of the road. A small blue glow near the figure gave way to a thick fog that quickly dissipated in the wind.
	The gasoline abruptly stopped flowing through the hose. He removed the nozzle from the gas tank and carefully placed it back in its holster before tightening the gas cap.
	The strengthening wind shook the light poles that hung over the street while the young man paid. Looking up and out at the night sky from under the canopy, the never-ending stars orbited by the never-ending planets faded into the periphery of his brain while he thought to himself about the infiniteness of existence and the finite nature of his own life.
	Withdrawing his hollow gaze, the young man got back into the Q3. He looked to his right and saw her sweater expanding and contracting. The young man leaned over and gently tucked her hair behind her ear.
 
","August 04, 2023 02:02","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'That was interesting — like a snapshot of a small slice of time in the life of these two people.  Thanks for this.', 'time': '18:05 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Alexander Hanna': 'I was just wondering what it would be like to read this story 200-300 years from now. I wonder what humans living then will think about us (early 21st century humans) when looking back? Thanks for reading my story :)', 'time': '19:17 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Alexander Hanna': 'I was just wondering what it would be like to read this story 200-300 years from now. I wonder what humans living then will think about us (early 21st century humans) when looking back? Thanks for reading my story :)', 'time': '19:17 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,v7uy69,Da Art of Ridin Shotgun,Mark Ritchie,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v7uy69/,/short-story/v7uy69/,Dramatic,0,"['Friendship', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
November, 1994
 
	“Dude, I’m telling you, you gotta see it. My girl Uma is in it, John Travolta, and that guy everyone thinks you look like,” Davante strains while trying to hold the smoke in his lungs, extending his right arm to pass the lit blunt to me from behind the wheel of his rickety 1986 Toyota Tercel. Between the pot and this car’s engine it smells like someone doused a skunk in Penzoil and set it on fire.  I pinch the spliff tightly between my thumb and forefinger to retrieve it from his grasp.  
	“Eric Stoltz,” I say before raising the blunt to my lips while he shifts gears. “That’s my dude but are you serious? John Travolta? What the hell was the last movie that guy was in,” I add, exhaling so I can take my second hit before returning the blunt. 
	“Wasn’t he in that talking baby movie?  Oh, that reminds me, Bruce Willis is in it too.”
	This is pretty much how we roll. Davante driving, me riding.  It’s the only car we have and I don’t drive stick so in reality we ain’t got much choice. It’s become such second nature that we reflexively sit in the same configuration when we go to parties, him on the left, me on the right. Roll dawgs. 
	We tried it the other way, once.  Went to Daytona Beach last Spring Break in a rented Cavalier.  He drove from southern Ohio all the way to Georgia, overnight, finally asked for a break so I took over just outside of Atlanta, at rush hour, after riding all night, smoking blunts the entire way. He made me pull off at a rest stop after about 30 minutes, convinced I was going to kill us. I wasn’t so sure he was wrong.  “Franticity.”  That’s what he calls my driving style.  
 
 Suckas causing static cause they still be disagreein’
 I don’t give a — cause I’m from F-L-I-N-T
 
	M.C. Breed is one of the handful of cassettes we have in this hooptie along with a bunch of mixes by our boys Gerald and Darrell - G & D when they’re DJing. The tape deck is even more janky than the car. There’s a pair of lock pliers latched where the volume knob should be. That fell off on the trip to Toronto.  There’s also a pair of needle nose for when the tape gets stuck, which happens all the time.
	“Yo, let me get that Snapple,” Davante asks, as he returns the dwindling Swisher Sweet to me, trading it for the requested beverage.  I feel I’ve perfected the art of riding shotgun.  Navigate, keep the music bumping, keep an eye out for Five-Oh, snacks, drinks, roll the blunts. 
	 Davante continues campaigning me to see this movie. “Peep it though, at one point ol’ girl finds his sack of heroin and accidentally OD’s and then they bring her out of it by stabbing her in the heart with an adrenaline shot. Tarantino is buckwild.” 
	“Yeah, I saw “Reservoir Dogs” but that doesn’t even sound plausible,” I shoot back. “You can’t stop an OD with a shot.”
	I put the finishing hit on the blunt. “This thing is cashed.” Ash falls onto my gray Seton Hall sweatshirt as I crack the window and flick out the remnant of our last bit of weed.  Just in time too because a police cruiser pulls up on the other side of the intersection as we stop for a red light.  
	To quote Slick Rick, this type of shit happens every day.  Of course we ran out of ganja just as a cop showed up. When the two of us are together it's like we’ve got this mystical bullshit deflector that deploys. We have zero control over it. Things just work out. We call it our Funky Twin powers.  Borrowed that from L.L. and Lords of the Underground.
	Like the time we drove down to see Lil Mama.  Big ass thunderstorm hits just as we’re nearing her neighborhood.  This thing was torrential. Hail, lightning, the whole shebang. Forced us off the road.  When it slowed down enough for us to get rolling again, there was a rainbow up ahead and where does it appear to end? Right in her backyard.
	Or that crazy trip to Daytona. Once we finally got down there, we were supposed to meet up with the girls in our crew but not so shockingly, after smoking for 16 straight hours, we couldn’t remember where they said they were staying. We finally gave up, so Davante pulled into this two-bit motel because it was the first one we had passed that still had its “Vacancy” sign lit.  Guess who we see walking across the parking lot with a bucket full of ice? 
	Our motto has become, “fuck it, somethin’ll happen.”
	I put two cigarettes in my mouth, light them both, and hand one over. Another shotgun duty - lighting the squares. That should cover whatever lingering blunt smoke is still in the air and isn’t already covered by the smell of the exhaust pipe.
	“Over here Mr. Officer. I’m the one you’re looking for,” Davante taunts, waving his left hand just slightly from its 12 o’clock position on the steering wheel as he aggressively exhales cigarette smoke.  It’s about 10:30, so his antics are covered by the dark. His light brown skin illuminated by the red glow of the traffic light, he turns his Tigers hat around so that the Old English D is facing backwards. That’s how I always know shit is serious. 
	 “Mack, look, this poor sucker is probably gonna be out here, all night, searching for people fucking up and we’re right in front of his nose.”  He almost sounds sympathetic and he’s certainly not wrong. We are high as shit.  Even though we’re out of weed, we’ve got a coffee can full of cigar guts and I guarantee our eyes are about as cracked as a downtown L.A. shop window after the riots. That’s “probable cause” all day.  Might not get arrested but this late at night I sure as hell am not interested in being cuffed while we wait for the K9 unit to arrive, plus we still got an hour drive back to campus as it is.
	The light changes and we both pass through the intersection, heading opposite directions. The entrance ramp to the turnpike is just up ahead.  I watch Davante watch the cop in the rear view.
	“One of these times, this is gonna bite us in the ass,”  I assert.
	Breed is still in the tape deck. “I’m switching it up.”  I hit the eject button and miraculously the tape actually pops out.  I grab one of G & D’s mixtapes and feed it back in.  It starts in the middle of Mary J. Blige “Real Love” mixed with the beat from “Paid in Full” by Eric B and Rakim.  I gotta learn how to do that.
	I ash my cigarette in the now empty iced tea bottle and as I sit back, I see a flash of red and blue across Davante’s face.
	“Aw fuck!”
	I spin around to see the cruiser pull a U-turn, lights on, siren screaming. I’m suddenly aware of my heartbeat throbbing in my neck. I start searching the floor for the spray can of concentrated air freshener we keep but it’s impossible to find anything in this mess. 
	Davante lets off the accelerator and shifts into neutral as the Tercel coasts to a stop on the side of the road, his eyes fixed on the mirror.  Mr. Officer is coming fast. Six million scenarios are playing out in my head all at once.
	And then, he blows right past us.  
	Whoever he’s after, it’s not us. Within seconds the flashing lights are far in front of us, he hangs the next right, tires squealing, and he’s gone. Davante wastes no time putting the Tercel back in gear, steering us back onto the route to the turnpike. 
	“Guess he found someone who was fucking up, huh?”
	I immediately light two more Camels as my breathing slowly returns to a reasonable pace.  The Tercel glides up to the turnpike toll booth and Davante accepts the ticket from the white-haired woman seated there. I wonder about what must have happened in her life that she’s this old, working this late on a Sunday night doing this horrible job.
	The gate raises and as we pull through, I see two signs, east to Cleveland, west to Toledo.  The weed combined with the residual effect of the adrenaline rush from our close encounter causes me to blank on which way to go. We gotta stop smoking this shit. 
	“Well, navigator?” I hear the sarcasm in his voice, but he doesn’t know either
	G & D’s mixtape answers for me.
 
 Awwwwwwwww, yeah, ah come on come on come on
 To the East, my brother, to the East
 Uh, to the East, my brother, to the East, come on
 
	They mixed out of “Paid in Full” and into “Fire & Earth” by X-Clan. We both stare at the tape deck in utter disbelief because sure enough, it’s right. “You heard the man. Git to gittin’, driver,” I retort with equal amounts of sarcasm and amazement.
	Funky Twin powers, activate.
 
","August 04, 2023 11:34","[[{'Isla Stark': ""Hi Mark, I'm reading your story as part of the Reedsy critique circle. Many thanks for sharing your submission. I will admit this story caught me by surprise - it's different to anything I've read before, so thank you for submitting something a bit out of the ordinary. I liked the relationship that you portrayed between the two, and your use of colloquial language, slang and references of the time. I would have worked out that it was probably set in the nineties, and I think I would have preferred to work that one out for myself as a reader...."", 'time': '16:46 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mark Ritchie': 'Appreciate the feedback. I debated a while about putting in the dateline myself ultimately deciding to go with it but in hindsight I think you’re probably right. That last part of the story where the song on the tape gives the direction actually happened so I tried to come up with something interesting around that and wanted to underscore that their relationship seemed to have these mystical properties so maybe I should have spent more time on that in the absence of a relationship arc. Great advice though. Thanks so much for reading it. I re...', 'time': '17:08 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mark Ritchie': 'Appreciate the feedback. I debated a while about putting in the dateline myself ultimately deciding to go with it but in hindsight I think you’re probably right. That last part of the story where the song on the tape gives the direction actually happened so I tried to come up with something interesting around that and wanted to underscore that their relationship seemed to have these mystical properties so maybe I should have spent more time on that in the absence of a relationship arc. Great advice though. Thanks so much for reading it. I re...', 'time': '17:08 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,72kchl,Orville,Severn Macleod Gore,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/72kchl/,/short-story/72kchl/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Suspense', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
I wasn't expecting to find a hitchhiker in the middle of the Mojave desert, but that's where he was.
 
It was scorching hot as I raced down the highway. The air was sizzling on the hood of my car, and I had all the windows down and the AC on. Some rock-and-roll guitar riff was blaring on the radio, but it was hard to make out over the sound of wind roaring past. I could feel the leather of my seat sticking to my back through my sweat-soaked T-shirt.
So, given the heat, I thought it was odd when I drove past a man walking along the side of the road in jeans and a red leather jacket. He was wearing a pair of thick, black sunglasses and had a black backpack slung over his right shoulder and a bottle of water in his left hand.
I kept driving for about twenty seconds before coming to a stop. Then, I started up again and circled back around to where he was waiting.
I turned the radio down a bit as I pulled over and came to a stop across the road from the man. He didn't move or speak, but he gave me a cheeky half-grin from behind his sunglasses.
 
""Where're ya going?"", I asked.
 
""Oh, uh, Harrison's. It's a pub not far up the road from here.""
 
I knew of the place, though I'd never visited. It was a run-down looking tavern attached to a small, dodgy gas station. It had earned a place in my memory as I'd driven this route several times before, and it was the only building I'd be passing for the next hour.
 
""Yeah, I know the place"".
 
I leaned my head out the open window and looked up the road, in the direction we were both heading, and then turned my attention back to the hitchhiker. He seemed friendly enough, and cheerful to boot. He didn't seem to mind the weather, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind finishing the journey on his own, but it would take him at least an hour or two on foot.
Besides, I was heading that way and wouldn't need to make any detours.
 
""Wanna ride? You'd get there a lot faster by car.""
 
""Oh, that would be great, thanks.""
 
He hadn't hesitated for a moment, immediately making his way across the road and around to the passengers door. He opened the door and got in, dropping his bag on the floor between his legs.
 
""My name's Orville, by the way"", he said, as he buckled his seatbelt.
 
""James.""
 
""Nice to meet you, James.""
 
I turned the car back onto our side of the road and we were off. The radio was still buzzing away softly, but he didn't seem to mind. He had his head tilted towards the open window, letting the cool wind run through his hair.
 
""Oh, this is so much better. So, James, where are you headed?""
 
He shouted a little to make his voice heard over the wind and the radio and the AC.
 
""Los Angeles. Pasadena.""
 
""Nice"", was all he responded with.
 
""What about you, if you don't mind me asking. Why are you heading to Harrison's? There's nothing else around for miles.""
 
""Oh, it's not a recreational visit. I'm going there for business?""
 
""What kind of business do you do?""
 
""I'm a hitman. You?""
 
I hadn't heard him properly over all the noise, so I switched off the radio and turned the AC down a bit.
 
""Sorry, I can't quite hear you. What did you say you did?""
 
""I kill people. What about you?""
 
I turned and looked at him and smiled a bit, then turned back to the road, and then back to him. He was joking. After a moment he turned and looked at me with a blank expression. He was expecting me to say something.
 
""You are joking, aren't you?""
 
""No, I mean it, what do you do?""
 
My eyes flicked between him and the road, and settled on watching the road.
 
""I, um, I'm an architect.""
 
""Oh, nice. Residential or commercial?""
 
""What?""
 
""Like, what kind of buildings do you design?""
 
""... Houses.""
 
""Nice.""
 
He leaned his head back towards the window, letting the cool breeze run past his face again.  He held his hand just outside the window and let the air dance between his fingers, swaying his hand back and forwards. It was a couple of minutes before I spoke up.
 
""So..."", I started.
 
""Yeah?""
 
""When you say you're a hitman...""
 
I trailed off and glanced at him. He just turned and stared at me with that same blank expression, masked by his sunglasses.
 
""Wh- like, seriously, do you mean your work for the government, or...?""
 
""No, it's my own company. I work with clients, whoever needs my help, and charge commissions based on the job.""
 
""Oh, Nice.""
 
Oh, Fuck.
 
He wasn't joking. I had no idea what to do.
I wanted to slam my foot down on the brakes, make everything stop, and give myself a moment to think, but then what? Would I ask him to get out? What if he got mad and attacked me? He had seemed friendly enough, but what if that had all been a ruse?
I could get out and run. He could take the car for all I care. But then I'd be stranded in the middle of no-where, and the nearest place around would be Harrison's, and that's exactly where he was going anyway.
 
""James?""
 
I hadn't noticed he'd been talking to me. I’d gotten lost in my thoughts. How long had it been since I picked him up?
 
""Oh, sorry, what- what were you saying?""
 
""I was just asking why you're heading to Pasadena?""
 
Why was he asking me that? What did he want to know? I looked at him. He was staring at me, frowning a little now. Oh god, what was he thinking?
 
""James? Are you ok?""
 
""Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just... I'm- I'm visiting my family. In Pasadena, I mean. My parents, and my brother. They're all expecting me, you know?""
 
""Cool.""
He was still looking at me. It felt as though his eyes were scanning me, searching for something on my face or something in my voice. But I couldn’t see anything through the lenses of his sunglasses.
 
""Do you... have a family?"", I asked.
 
His concerned frown shifted back to that cheeky grin I had seen when we first met, and he turned and faced the road.
 
""Nope.""
 
He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, took a swig, and then put the lid back and tightened it. We drove on in silence for a few more minutes. I watched him from the corner of my eyes.
None of this seemed right. Was he acting, pretending to be normal? Was he actually joking when he said he was a hitman? He looked normal enough, but was this just some kind of civilian disguise he was wearing, in order to appear harmless.
 
He nodded forwards a bit.
 
""Watch the road.""
 
I turned and quickly swerved to the side. I hadn't noticed that I had drifted towards the center and had been driving in the middle of the road. I straightened back up in my lane. It was a good thing there were no other cars out here. I needed to stay focused
 
“Are you sure you’re ok? Do you need something to drink?”
 
“Yeah- I mean, No. I’m just- I’m fine.”
 
“You seem stressed.”
 
I didn't respond. I was focusing on the road now. I hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but Harrison’s couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes away. We’ll arrive, he’ll get out, go do his business, and I’d be free to go. 
His business… What was he going to do when we got there?
 
“...oh god”, I whispered.
 
Was I taking him to kill someone? If that were the case, I’d be directly responsible for the victims death. I’d be an accomplice to their murder. I could be minutes away from earning a prison sentence.
Orville held something out towards me and bumped it against my shoulder. I shuddered. It was cold. Sweat was running down my arms and face now, and it wasn’t from the heat. He must have figured me out. He knew what I was thinking, and he wasn’t going to let me leave.
 
“James…”
 
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was focusing on the road. I put my foot down a little harder on the accelerator. Only a couple of minutes now.
 
“... look at me, James.”
 
Slowly, I turned to look at him. He was holding out his water bottle.
 
“Have a drink. You need to calm down.”
 
He had already taken the cap off, so I took the water bottle from him and downed it in one go. It was, after all, a very hot and stressful day.
 
“Sorry”, I said, as I handed it back to him.
 
“Don’t worry about it. They’ve got drinks at Harrison’s.”
 
We were only a minute away now. I was out of time. I needed to know exactly what I was getting involved in.
 
“About that, Orville…”.
 
I tried to keep my voice steady.
 
“Harrison’s. What did you say you were doing there?”
 
He turned to me and smiled.
 
“Business.”
 
“No, no, not just ‘business’. I need to know what this is. Are we…  are you… going there to… kill someone?”
 
He stared at me for a moment, that same cold, blank, emotionless stare. Then he started laughing to himself.
 
“Oh god, James, is this why you were worried? No, no, I’m not going there to kill anyone. Sorry, I didn’t mean to lead you on like that. No, I’m meeting a client there. She wanted to meet in a neutral location, somewhere out of the way, in the middle of no-where. Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were worried about that.”
 
I didn’t say anything. I was watching the road. In the distance, through a fuzzy cloud of heat, the carpark of Harrison’s came into view. 
 
“Listen, James, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re a good guy, helping me out like this. And good guys have nothing to worry about.”
 
I pulled up alongside the building. It was just as dreary and run-down as it had been the last time I made this trip. Above the bar was a faded white sign with red letters spelling out ""Harrison's"".
I looked over at Orville. He was staring down at his phone, which displayed a picture of the same run-down tavern that was just outside the car. He looked up at me and grinned.
 
""Yep, this is the place.""
 
He sighed a little as he opened the door and got out of the car, then turned and picked his backpack up off the floor.
 
""Hey, thanks for the ride, James. I’m sorry if I gave you a scare, but it was really nice meeting you. ""
 
""Yeah, don't worry about it"", I said absentmindedly. There was no way this was actually happening.
 
Orville hoisted his pack onto his shoulder.
 
""Well, I'll see ya around. Drive safe.""
 
He shut the door, turned, and made his way towards the pub. I watched him as he went.
He turned back and waved to me, giving me a cheeky smile from behind his sunglasses.
Then he pushed open the door to the pub and disappeared inside.
 
I waited for a couple minutes, staring at the wooden door to the pub. I was waiting for something to happen -  shouting, gunshots, someone getting thrown through a window. But nothing happened. After another minute, I pulled back onto the highway and sped up.
 
I turned the radio back on and listened as its little hum started to drown out my thoughts. In the rearview mirror, Harrison's pub started to shrink and shrink, until it disappeared entirely.
 
'I'll see ya around?'
 
What had he meant by that?
 
","August 04, 2023 12:56","[[{'Mark Ritchie': 'Hi Severn\n\nReedsy sent me your story for the Critique Circle so here are my thoughts on your piece:\n\nWhat I liked:  I think the setup of your core idea for the story is really interesting - what do you do if you pick up a hitchhiker that turns out to be a hitman? I really like the revelation that James has about ""am I taking him to kill someone right now?""  That was fabulous. I also liked that Orville seemed genuinely interested in James\' life all while be quite cavalier about the fact that he kills people for a living.  James getting so los...', 'time': '12:09 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Isla Stark': ""Hi Severn. I'm reading your story as part of the critique circle. Thanks for sharing your story. I really liked your idea for Orville to be a hitman, but felt you could have done more with this. Was James his intended target? You could have done more with this great idea.\n\nI also felt like there was a fair bit of unnecessary detail, you could have made the narrative shaper by cutting some of this, for example you describe Orville carrying his backpack on his right shoulder, his water bottle in his left hand, the cap was already off the water..."", 'time': '20:23 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Sweeney': 'Well written and amusing story.', 'time': '14:32 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Severn Macleod Gore': 'Thanks 😊', 'time': '21:48 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Severn Macleod Gore': 'Thanks 😊', 'time': '21:48 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,qjcvcf,The Long Drive Home,Josiah Kroontje,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qjcvcf/,/short-story/qjcvcf/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Drama']",7 likes,"
The roadworker appeared out of the night like an apparition, one foot planted on each side of the centerline, and Pete Davidson immediatly realized he would kill him.He stomped the brake pedal and choked the steering wheel as momentum flung him into the seatbelt. The polyester fabric bit into his skin and profanities leaped into his mouth, though even now, in the maw of a life-ending collision, decades of restraint enabled Pete to kennel the curses behind clenched teeth. The vehicle skidded towards the man in the safety vest. Pete released one terrible shout and shut his eyes as the vehicle screeched to a halt.In the back seat, his daughter was panting. “Dad! Did you fall asleep?”His mouth felt as dry as cotton. He opened his eyes, saw the roadworker standing between the headlights near enough to slap the Chevy’s hood, and sighed in exhausted relief.“Sorry to wake you,” Pete said.“Should I drive?” Melanie said.Pete wiped his face and glanced again at the roadworker from whom God withheld common sense. A righteous anger built inside him, a scathing steam screaming for release. He raised his hand to punch the horn but, looking more closely at the roadworker, Pete hand’s hovered instinctively limp above the steering wheel.An icy spear of trepidation sank into his chest.The man stood alone in the middle of the mountain road. The whites of his eyes popped large and luminescent in his dirt-streaked, sun-beaten face. His face appeared bleached from a summer’s worth of strenuous outdoor labor. Pete winced; the roadworker would need to scrub with steel wool and acetone to remove the copious layers of filth darkening his body. He would appear miserable compared to even the most rugged of manual laborers. And his blue jeans were tattered, blistered as if dragged through hot coals before being strapped around his legs.Then the roadworker held out a flat hand to Pete, and Pete’s breath gave out. At first, Pete thought the man held some sort of red safety reflector; instead, Pete realized the man’s palm was painted a sticky red. And he realized the roadworker’s ring finger was severed at the first digit. The red paint oozing from the wound and trickling in dark rivulets down his forearm was nothing besides blood.“Melanie, look away.”“Who is that?” his daughter said.Pete stiffened in his seat. Melanie had chosen to sit in the back after her track meet, so she would have more room to stretch, and Pete was glad for it; anything to put more distance between her and the roadworker.Yet Pete remained frozen in his seat. What should he do? Offer to help the wounded man? Bring him to a hospital? What if the roadworker was crazy and would harm him or his daughter?“Oh my…” Melanie said. “He’s bleeding.”“In the middle of this mountain road?”The roadworker stumbled towards the passenger door, stooped with aching ribs. He fell once to his knees, then staggered upwards. He crashed into the passenger door and used the vehicle to prop himself; Pete, of course, had already locked the doors.“He needs help,” Melanie said.“Not from us,” Pete said.The man rapped on the window. He pulled off his hard hat, which clattered to the road, and his round, shaved head revealed him to be perhaps only a little older than his teenage daughter. His lips squirmed like thick roundworms as he mouthed something inaudible. Was the man drunk? Delusional? Desperate? “We should see what he wants,” Melanie said.“Bet he’s insane. Homeless.”“He needs a hospital, Dad!”The man again rapped on the window, which spattered flecks of blood across the glass. He mumbled another string of indiscernible sounds.“Crack the window so we can hear him,” Melanie said. Pete felt two internal desires twisting and squirming; the desire to help an injured stranger, and the desire to protect his daughter from potential danger. What was the right thing to do in this situation? If only the world were more black and white!Pete lowered the passenger window just an inch. “What you want?” he shouted.The man strung together more syllables, but his speech sounded incoherent. Then Pete realized he was not speaking English, but rather a slurred sort of Spanish. The man winced with each uttered syllable.“What’s he saying?” Melanie said. Pete wished she would remain quiet. Not bring attention to herself.The man’s voice rose in pitch and strained with urgency. He continued tapping the window again and again.“What’s he saying?” Melanie asked.“Not English.”By now, Pete recognized several repetitive sounds. The man seemed not to be threatening but rather pleading.From the back, he heard Melanie shuffling in her chair. The glow of her phone reflected in the window, and she leaned forward and held the phone close to the crack.“Don’t open the door,” Pete said.“I’m translating,” she said. “It’s Spanish. He’s saying—”The man slapped the glass, his palm slamming into the window with desperate force. Blood spattered the glass like red-ink splotches; still, the man’s voice held not anger, but urgency, helplessness.The roadworker kept glancing over his shoulder as if afraid of something lurking in the night.“Melanie, what’s he saying?”“I have to try again. It didn’t record right—”Why was he doing this? Pete thought. Better to just leave the man be; drive ahead and call the police. But if the man was hurt—if the man truly needed help—would an ambulance arrive in time to prevent him from bleeding out? Then again, say he allowed the man into his car…what if he was indeed insane and attempted to harm Melanie?The man’s fingers (minus the severed ring finger) squeezed through the crack between the window and the door frame. The man applied downward force in an attempt to forcefully open the window.“Melanie…” Pete said. Then the window budged an inch. Pete broke. The defensive urge he felt for his daughter overcame his desire to help his common man.He tapped the gas pedal (his foolish conscience forbid him from pushing it through the floor). The traverse surged ahead; and with the man’s hands wedged in the window frame, his body slammed into the vehicle, his feet skidding across the asphalt.“Dad, stop!” Melanie said.Pete stopped the vehicle. He felt his entire insides boiling, his stomach alive and popping; his heart swirled around his spine; his mind fizzled as if it basked in carbonated fluids. The man lay limp against the vehicles, dangling from his pinched fingers. Had Pete killed him? Broken his bones to bits? God forgive him! Had Pete become a killer?The man stirred, somehow summoning strength in his legs to stand. Pete lowered the window until his hands dropped, then closed the window fully. The man repeated his nonsensical chant.“Dad…” Melanie said. “It translated. He’s saying, Help me. He says…oh, dad…”“Says what?”“They’re hunting him.”Pete sat stunned. “Who?”“It just translates them. They’re hunting him. Maybe it translated wrong…”Pete looked at the man again; weak, wounded, desperate, broken. Glancing over his shoulder at the limitless unknowns in the dark. Was this man s victim of some criminal’s malicious intent? Who was hunting him? Why? More importantly, the real question resurfaced in his mind; was a stranger’s well-being worth sacrificing his daughter’s safety?“What do we do?” Melanie asked. “Leave him to die in the dark?”“He could be insane.”“He could be anything, Dad!”Pete studied the man’s frail and stooped posture. He felt himself softening, then cursed himself for it. Kindness was Pete’s fatal flaw. Perhaps not kindness, but a cowardly inability to fight. How often was cowardice mislabeled as kindness! Last summer, while celebrating his 19th anniversary with his wife over a simple candlelit dinner around their kitchen table, a pest-control salesman knocked on the door. Pete had been too kind-hearted to ignore it; too kind-hearted to slam the door on the salesman’s face. The salesman burned an hour of Pete’s time, and although Pete never intended to buy any pest-control products, the salesman somehow managed to wring six hundred dollars out of Pete’s wallet, and Pete had somehow subscribed to hourly marketing emails.Who was Pete to let the man die over concern for Pete’s safety? Was this man’s life less important than his own? Would his daughter admire him more for helping the man, or for leaving him to bleed in the dark?An idea bloomed in his mind, and Pete thumbed the button for the emergency flashers. “Melanie, call the police and tell them there’s an injured man on the road. We’ll wait here with him until they arrive; that’s what we’ll do.”She had dialed 911 and placed the phone to her ear before Pete had finished speaking. Pete leaned towards the blood-smeared window and raised his voice. “We’re calling the police, sir,” he said. “We’re getting you help.”The man moaned, cheeks smushed against the pane. Then his head exploded in an enormous pop and glass raptured and shards of it sliced through the air and cut Pete’s face. Another gunshot clapped the night and the window behind him—Melanie’s window—fractured as a bullet punched through it.Pain blinded Pete but he nonetheless slapped the gas pedal, the Traverse vaulting forward to the crack of gunshots. Warm blood slipped down his face; and only through one eye could he see the winding mountain road, headlights guiding him along the bends and turns, the gunshots fading behind him.“Melanie, are you alright?” he said.Silence answered him. A hundred fears blitzed Pete's mind. Was Melanie okay? Had someone truly been hunting the roadworker? Why? Why had he been shot? Who would do such a wicked thing?“Melanie!” he said again. Here Pete was; his inaction, his hesitation, and uncertainty while trying to protect his daughter, now caused the exact opposite to occur. Was she injured? Had she seen the man's head explode? Pete strained to see the approaching twists in the road, squinting and blinking as drops of blood filtered through his eyelashes. He yearned to look back and evaluate his daughter’s condition but feared careening off the twisting road and plowing into a pine tree.“Please, Melanie!”He drove for another quarter mile, uttering desperate prayers for his daughter’s health, wheels skidding around the mountain bends. Melanie began whimpering; another half mile and he stopped the vehicle, spun in his seat, and stared at her.No blood marred her. Physical pain had not wrenched away her breath. But she covered her head with her hands and shook.“Melanie, I’m sorry, Melanie! We’re going to the hospital. You’re alright, aren’t you?”He drove further through the winding mountain roads; they passed roadwork signs riddled with bullet holes; further, he discovered several abandoned vehicles parked along the road with windows shot out and side mirrors exploded. What was happening in these terrible mountains? It was half an hour’s drive to the hospital, during which over the phone he informed the police station of everything that occurred.“We've heard about those killers,” the dispatch lady said, and that was all Pete was told.As he pulled into the hospital parking lot, Pete’s considered how the roadworker had leaned against his car, seconds before the gunshot. Pete had never seen a man killed. And now his daughter had seen it, too. All his fault, Pete thought. Because he couldn’t make a damn decision!Pete eased the Traverse into a stall and placed the vehicle in park. Without further hesitation, Pete bent his head, and wept.
","August 04, 2023 14:07","[[{'Xander Blue': 'What a great story! Loved the descriptions and action! I was getting anxious when \nthe hand came through the cracked window...\n\n""Who was Pete to let the man die over concern for Pete’s safety?""  is my only suggestion for a second look to make the sentence better.\n\nI think Pete\'s reactions were really well written and put me right there in the story.', 'time': '21:18 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Josiah Kroontje': 'Thank you so much for the feedback and the suggested edit. It helps a lot, and encourages me.', 'time': '14:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Josiah Kroontje': 'Thank you so much for the feedback and the suggested edit. It helps a lot, and encourages me.', 'time': '14:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ca54ep,Senior Skip Day,Xander Blue,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ca54ep/,/short-story/ca54ep/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'High School', 'Teens & Young Adult']",7 likes,"
Macey leaned toward the vent until her hair was wafting with the breeze. “Why is the AC blowing hot air?”Austin put her hands over the side and middle vents in the dash, then turned off the AC. “Maybe if we, you know, give it a break for a little while it’ll work later? I don’t know, I’m not a car expert.”“Well what are we supposed to do, Austin? It’s a million degrees outside and we’re out of gas and now we are out of AC.” “The car says it’s 112 degrees outside, not a million.”“Yeah, well I say it’s a million. Just look at the road. You can see, like, the heat waves coming up.” Austin let out a deep sigh. “My stupid brother, he didn’t fill up the tank last night when he borrowed the car.”“Woohoo! You said the secret word – fill up!” Macey reached for the bottle of lemonade flavored vodka. With no shot glasses available, they had decided a gulp or two every time was good enough. After each took their turn, they sat in silence for a few moments thinking up a new secret word each.“Got mine,” said Austin.“Ha ha.” Macey took a deep swig then handed the bottle back. “I knew you would say that, so I made that my new one. Drink up.” Austin looked at the bottle and handed it back without drinking. “I don’t feel too good. And before you say it, it’s not like, throw-up bad, I’m really achy. In my arms and legs.” She checked her phone. “We’ve been sitting here with no gas for over two hours now and I’m really hot and nobody’s been by.” “You sure your dad didn’t put extra gas in the trunk?’Pulling the keys from the ignition, Austin tossed them toward her friend’s lap. Jangling, they bounced off the seat and onto the floor. “You know I looked already Macey. You stayed in the cool AC while I went outside and looked. If you don’t believe me, you go look. This was your dumb idea to go to Vegas for Senior Skip day.”“What the fuck, Austin? Don’t be such a byotch. Tonopah is no-place. We been there our whole lives and deserve to go someplace fun for Skip. Besides, you’re the driver.”Squirming in her seat trying to get comfortable, Austin decided that reclining it most of the way might help. “Well, you’re supposed to be the one to guide us there. When I went to Vegas when I was thirteen with my mom, I don’t remember going through Death Valley.”“I just followed the app ‘til we lost service.” She took a picture of the reclining Austin and then one of the barren landscape outside the car window. “I’ll post these later. Do you think we’ll see anybody famous today?”“I already told you I don’t know when you asked me that an hour ago.”“Geez Austin.”“I’m sorry. I’m just really hot and tired and I don’t feel good. I bet we do see somebody famous. I mean, it’s Vegas, right?”“Yeah, I hope we do. It’d be cool to post somebody famous on our Skip. I know we were just going for the day, but you think maybe we should get a hotel room? Someplace with a pool, since you’re sick and all?”“We could’ve stayed home and gone over to Billy’s. He has a pool and both his parents are at work.” Austin closed her eyes and shivered at the goose bumps that ran down her arms.“That’s all we ever do. Besides, Billy Brandon gets handsy under the water. Oh, and what’s his thing about always asking us if we want to skinny dip?”“He told me, but I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Starting to sit up, Austin grabbed for, and missed the steering wheel. Flopping down in her seat, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths until the dizziness and numbness in her tongue passed.“You okay? What’s wrong?”“Yeah, I just got up too quick and got dizzy. I feel like I’m gonna pass out or something.”“You can’t pass out, you gotta tell me why Billy’s always perving for us to swim naked.”“Promise you won’t say anything about it?”Macey took a drink from the bottle and scrunched up in her seat closer to her friend. “Cross my heart,” she giggled.“Ok, but if you tell, I’ll kill ya. He told me that his parents go out late at night on the weekend, when they think he’s asleep, and they skinny dip and then mess around. Sometimes they do it during the week too.”“Ewww,” Macy backed away scrunching up her face, “they’re like, in their 40s aren’t they?”“I know!” Austin’s giggle was cut short by a sharp pain in her temple. “Ow! My head is suddenly pounding, you got any aspirin?”“Let me look.” Macey fished her mom’s knock-off, designer purse from the back seat and dug around in it. “Got em, how many you want, three?”“Yeah, that should be good.”Macey handed her the pills and the bottle of vodka. “Maybe you should like, chug as much as you can with the pills. You might need the liquids or something.”Five big gulps made the girl cough and sputter, but she got the pills down and handed the bottle back to her friend.Taking a couple swigs too, she placed her hand on Austin’s forehead. “Nurse Macey to the rescue. ““Nurse Macey my butt.”“I know, like, why would anybody want to go to more school after graduation? I’m gonna be an influencer. I already got over 500 followers.”“Yeah, that’s cause you got 600 cousins.” They both had a chuckle at that.“Nurse Macey says your skin doesn’t feel hot. Really, it feels kinda cool.” She put her hand to her own forehead for a few seconds. “Cooler than mine really. So that’s a good thing, right?”“I guess, but why do I feel so bad? And so tired?”“Looks like we’re gonna get a hotel when we get to Vegas for sure. Maybe you got the flu or something.”“Hotels cost a lot of money.”“Well, my mom gave me her credit card. In case of emergency. I’ll call her when we get someplace where our phones work and I bet she’ll say it’s okay.”“You think somebody will be by soon? I don’t feel so good.”“It’s a road. People go down roads all the time. You just close your eyes and try to take a nap. Dream about that big hotel pool we’ll be swimming in soon – and meeting somebody famous.”“Ok. Thank you for taking care of me Nurse Macey.” She reached out and held the other’s hand.Ten minutes later, Macey whispered, “Austin, you awake?” After receiving no answer, she uncoupled her hand from the other and took a big gulp from the near-empty bottle.“You know I love you girl,” Macey muttered softly, “but I think maybe you got me sick too. I’m achy and have a headache now too.”Four aspirin were counted out and washed down with the last of the lemonade flavored vodka. She tilted her seat back and decided a nap did sound like a great idea.“Oh wait.” Feeling around on the floorboard, she grabbed the keys. Reaching over to insert the keys into the ignition, Macey grabbed the steering wheel for balance. “Ow! Motherfucker.”The afternoon sun had been advancing slowly through the windshield, heating the dash and steering wheel to an unbearable degree. Stretching, she inserted the key, turned on the battery power, and cranked the AC.  Smiling, she took a selfie, nestled on her side in the reclined seat and let the phone fall between the seats. “We gave the AC a rest, Austin,” she whispered. “I bet it will be putting out cold air real soon.”Then she closed her eyes.
","August 04, 2023 14:20",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,o2x96a,Stuck,Tessa R,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o2x96a/,/short-story/o2x96a/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Sad']",7 likes,"
“Aaaand… we’re back in the Netherlands”, he says, and we both do a little cheer. We’ve been on the road for about 10 hours today, driving back from Italy. It almost immediately starts to rain. “It’ll be good to be back home, won’t it?”, he says. I nod, it will be. The weather will be worse, though, and I have to start work again on Monday. There’s a container of food I left in the fridge when we left for our holiday two weeks ago, and my stomach turns a bit thinking about it. Still, there’s a feeling of relief, I can tell that he feels it too, but I can’t put my finger on it. “It will be nice to sleep in our own bed again”, I say. On the radio, the pop song that’s been playing everywhere this summer comes on, and I put the music louder. We both sing along, we like to act like it’s ours.
 
	The song ends, and the traffic is slowing down. He turns the music down again, and it feels strangely quiet. I try to think back to when we were on the way to Italy, whether it was silent between us then. It must have been, but this already feels longer than that. I remember feeling relaxed, like there was finally going to be enough time, so none of the words were urgent. “What are you looking forward to the most?”, he asks me now, like this is the holiday we’re going on. I start complaining about work for a bit, not answering the question. I’m boring myself.
 
	The traffic has stopped at this point, and we both stare into the rain. I’m singing along to a slow song on the radio and he tells me I have a lovely voice. I don’t, I know I don’t. I also know because he told me I don’t, a thousand times. I look at his profile, he doesn’t look back. “I’m so glad we’re finally actually caught up again”, I say.
	“What do you mean?”
	“Just finally having had time for each other. We’re always missing each other back home, with my evening shifts, and your football.” 
	“It’s not my fault how they schedule us. I told you I asked for Wednesday evenings off.”
	“That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just good that we finally had so much time together again. I feel like I’m caught up on your life again”, I say, smiling. He frowns at this, “Right”, he says. I’m annoyed at him for challenging this, and I can feel the silence sneaking back between us. “Are you also so tired?”, I ask. “Yes, definitely”, he says.
 
It’s been 30 minutes, and we moved about 10 meters. It’s about an hour away from home and I’m trying to calculate how long the walk would be. We’re halfway through an economics podcast when I suddenly lean over and put my tongue in his ear. He laughs at this, giggles his low laugh, like a child hearing a dirty joke. I’m kissing his neck, he smells like himself, a bit of cologne from yesterday and like car. He keeps laughing and kisses me chastely on the mouth. “Not right now, okay?”, he whispers. “Why not?”, I ask, trying to sound sexy. “People could see us!”, he says.
	 “So what! Come on, we don’t know any of them. We never do anything spontaneous like this.” 
	“We were just in hotels for two weeks, we had plenty of opportunity! Don’t act like I’m the prude now.”
	“You know I was on my period.”
	“Not the whole time”, he mumbles under his breath. 
	“I was tired. We had a busy schedule. And you know how work has been. Don’t act like I don’t want you. You know I want you.”
	I remove my seatbelt and take off my cardigan. As I start to manoeuvre onto his lap, I sit back, realising the amount of work and give up. I don’t even know that I do want him. I look at his face, he hasn’t shaved in weeks. It’s his holiday habit, for some reason, but it feels like he’s just not putting in effort when it’s just for me. His hair is greasy and a bit too long. He looks at me so seriously, with his frown where his eyebrows almost turn upside down. A sadness comes over me as I remember how I used to feel about that frown. How I would kiss his eyebrows until he’d smile. 
	“Do you?”, he asks, his voice thin.
	“Well, we’re happy together, right? We should be having sex, I think. What would it even say about us if we didn’t?”
	“Right, of course. It’s just the stress of going on a holiday, isn’t it? We’ll be back to normal in no time. We just need to get home. We’re so happy together at home.”
	We smile at each other. It’s a polite smile. I suddenly feel tired, sinking back into the chair. We are happy, I suppose, it’s true. We are a perfect match. 
 
He honks, and as a response, a few other cars honk too. I sigh, but he doesn’t react to it. I sigh again and I can see him clench his jaw. “Didn’t help, did it?”, I say. We’ve been stuck in traffic for about an hour at this point, and the rain is pouring. “Don’t start”, he says. “Maybe I should take over driving soon”, I say. “Right, convenient”, he says. It doesn’t make sense but I let him have it. “We have that dinner at my mom’s tomorrow evening, remember. Remind me to bring her those books she left last time”, I say, changing the subject. “Oh, can we not do that dinner? Jan and the boys wanted to go to the bar and I haven’t seen them in ages now.” 
	“We’ve set that date for months. It’s to celebrate my promotion from last April.”
	“Come on, we’ve celebrated that plenty by now. You prefer to have some alone time with your mom anyway right?”
	I do, actually. “Are you kidding me? Can you really not do this for me? You know my mom wants to see you too.” I feel a wave of nausea coming on.
	“Your mom prefers time with you, I don’t know why you’re always pushing this. You know Roy will be there tomorrow, at the bar. I haven’t seen him in months. Why can you never just let me do what I want?”
	“You always do what you want.” I roll open a window, the nausea is creeping up my throat. He doesn’t say anything. 
	“This car is driving us crazy”, I say. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to come.”
	He’s silent. “We just need to get home”, I say.
 
“Do you think this is normal?”, he asks, and I jerk awake. I dosed off, but it must have been only a minute because the car hasn’t moved. 
	“What is?”
	“That we can’t spend a few hours, actually together? I’m trying to think of the last time we had to do that.”
	“On the way to Italy it was fine. We had fun.”
	“Did we? We just listened to podcasts, didn’t we? I don’t think I really remember fun.”
	I’m picking at the skin of my nails. The nail of my index finger is about to break, and I rip it off. “We can put on a podcast now, if you want”, I say. 
	“I do want that. I really want to be home, too. I keep thinking I long to be in bed, on my phone, or on the couch watching TV. You know, occupy my brain. But I also think I should be able to be okay, just sitting in the car, with my girlfriend, whom I love. But I’m not.”
	“What are you saying?”, I ask. My nail is bleeding now, and I’m sucking on it to make it stop.
	“I’m saying that I want you to be there in my life, but maybe what I actually want is for you to just be available. To have someone to talk to about work, to check in about my day, even to share the household tasks with. And I love you, so maybe that’s why it needs to be you. But we don’t even really want to spend time together, do we? We don’t even really want to take enough time to realise this.”
	The streetlights turn on and cast a yellow light on his face. I feel a strong urge to check my phone, look away. He’s really quite beautiful from the side, he has a strong nose. The frown is back, too. I know he’s right. It feels so intimate, suddenly, to hear him put words onto my feelings, too. He turns and looks at me, and I look back. 
 
We both jump at a horn behind us. The traffic has started moving again, and the rain has stopped. It’s like the world widens again around us, jerking us away from each other’s gaze. We start to drive again, in silence, for the rest of the way. As we pull into our driveway, we sit still for a moment.
	“We came quite close, this holiday, didn’t we?” I say, and he laughs.
	“Damn traffic”, he says, “damn car.”
	“Damn rain, damn nothing-good-on-the-radio.”
	As we go in, the first thing I do is go to the container in the fridge. The leftover pasta is green, and a bit hairy. As I throw it away, I smile. It feels good to face it. And it feels good to move on.
 
","August 04, 2023 14:34","[[{'Mike Rush': ""Tessa,\n\nWelcome to Reedsy! And congrats on your first submission. I hope you find a writing home here. \n\nI don't know if you have a remarkable way with words, or relationships, or both. I was in the car with this couple!\n\nI once lived in the Netherlands, and we traveled to Italy for a visit. We only spent one night. What a travesty.\n\nI wondered if you are Dutch. I wondered if this actually happened in your life. The conversation is so raw; the scene is so tense. If this came from your imagination, well, then, it's brilliant.\n\nI loved the way..."", 'time': '21:48 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tessa R': ""Hi Mike,\n\nThank you so much for your comment! I'm glad you liked it, I'm very excited to get to writing more! It means a lot to hear your feedback.\n\nI am Dutch, indeed! I did go to Italy last summer, too, but the rest of the story is very much made up. Nice to hear you've spend some time here.\n\nThanks again for reading, and until next time."", 'time': '17:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tessa R': ""Hi Mike,\n\nThank you so much for your comment! I'm glad you liked it, I'm very excited to get to writing more! It means a lot to hear your feedback.\n\nI am Dutch, indeed! I did go to Italy last summer, too, but the rest of the story is very much made up. Nice to hear you've spend some time here.\n\nThanks again for reading, and until next time."", 'time': '17:02 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1dvw3t,Water Rises,J. W.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1dvw3t/,/short-story/1dvw3t/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Happy', 'Sad']",7 likes,"
The yum of the car was the sound that woke him. Blind, tugged tight across his face, the ever stagnant drone -- yum -- of the car, and the oncoming air pushing, gushing through the slipstream shield of breaking speed. A facsimile of falling in his mind, a drug wear-off, falling deeper and deeper, and the voluminous light erupting through the clouds below -- yum -- and day is there on the other side, coffee-filter-esque through the spattered bugs on the windshield. And a shake -- yum -- and another and the slipping throttle of an engine stuck between going and slowing, the wheels ever turning, ever spinning, not noxious in their purpose; the man awakes.
The smell of oil was strong. Another was driving, not him. He was supine on the backseat, smelling the stains of a workman's vehicle as the engine yummed and pocked.
Leaving. I'm leaving.
The man behind the wheel, a young gentleman, not altogether dirty, but grimy all the same, was festooned behind the wheel, his shoulder hunched into a posture of unrest, his face disected by the light and shadow; he, turning to look through the mirror, spotted the man who lay dead, stirring.
We'll be in Chattanooga in a little while.
The man nodded and brushed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up, feeling the felt cushion bend beneath his palm-weight. He groaned, yawned, stretched, groaned.
How'd you sleep?
Fine.
Any dreams?
Falling. Falling real fast into the sky.
Scary stuff.
The man took his legs off the seat and hunched over the center console of the car, his face propped upon his hands.
In a way, I suppose. But it was more like a peaceful fall.
You said it was fast.
Just as fast as this car. You wouldn't paint this peaceful-like?
No. I wouldn't.
How much farther?
Not too long I reckon. Not but thirty miles or so.
The man wiped his mouth and sat up. On the floorboard, a bag lay, and from it he extracted a book. It was The Mentor Book of Major American Poets; a sticky-note marked halfway. Stephen Crane: A Man Feared.
Boy did he ever, the man thought to himself.
The man behind the wheel spoke up. You talked to Mary and Clive at all? See if they're still expecting us?
Yeah. Called them right before we got on the rode in Cincy.
And what'd they say?
Said they had a loft open, that or they could rent a hotel for us.
They didn't have to do that.
They haven't.
Don't want them spending their money on us.
I agree.
So you told 'em not to buy us a hotel.
I didn't say that. You know how Mary gets when someone tries to be modest.
Yeah.
Yeah.
The car yummed further. For a while, neither spoke. One read poetry, the other drove.
When do you want to switch off? the man behind the wheel said.
When do you?
I reckon when we get to Chattanooga.
I think that'll be fine.
Alright.
The man in the back thought then. He thought of the life he was leaving, his parents, his brothers, his sister, all behind in Maine. He thought of his friend, his good friend who was now driving the two of them down south. He thought of the little car they were in, the yum and pop of the engine, the smell of oil from the many car-parts his friend had taken across town. He thought of his old job, the papermill, how he had smelled just terrible every single day of his life, and how he was glad to be leaving. But how new it all seemed.
Charlie, he said. Do you ever feel like you're falling?
You mean like your dream?
Yeah, but when your awake. You feel like you just keep getting higher and higher, and you can't slow yourself down because gravity's reversed.
Yeah. I feel that.
The man behind the wheel relaxed a little, and gassed the car forward, overtaking a minivan. Through the windshield, he could glass long rode, miles of un-laden driving. He looked into the mirror.
You know, he began, I feel, a lot of the time, like I might start to drown. Like I'm at the top of this big hill of all the people that have helped me through life. And that there's this water below me, chasing me as I climb to the top. And I'm stepping all over those people I love. Mary and Clive are there. And when I finally get to the very top, I look down and see that the water's not too far away. That I never outran it. That it's been on my heels from the minute I started climbing, and that all those people I stepped on to get higher. . . Well, they're drowning now. Drowning in the water that's chasing me. And then I sit down and start to cry, and all those people who are at the top start to comfort me and tell me, it's okay, it's not your fault. But it is. It is my fault. And pretty soon they'll start to drown too, and then I will. Because water rises.
Water rises, the man and the back said.
Yeah.
Thank you.
For what?
For telling me that.
You're welcome, I guess.
The man in the back laid down again, resting the open book of poetry on his chest, staring at the tan cloth ceiling-liner.
You'll wake me when we get to Chattanooga?
Yeah, I will.
Alright.
Sweet dreams.
The man smiled. In his mind, he began to build that moutain of friends, family, all those he knew. And he began to climb. Hope not, he said. And the car yummed onward.
   It was there. That feeling, that itchy feeling of being left behind. That he had become part of the mountain, and his heels were grabbed by his family and friends, and that he could kick them, kick them right in the teeth, make them let go, but that he would never forgive himself if he did. And he saw someone coming, someone walking up that hill from below him now, and it was the face of his friend. Him coming up, and everybody was holding out their hands, fingerholds for him to grab on to, and he was getting closer and closer. And the man reached out to the friend, and the friend saw him.
   Help me, the man said, and the friend nodded, his face slanted concernedly. The friend pulled him out, and the people of the mountain grabbed and tugged and told him NO, ITS NOT RIGHT. But the friend kept pulling, and soon the man was free.
   He stood on mountain, keeping away from the hands. The friend looked at him, but didn't say anything. He continued to climb, aided by the hands.
   WAIT, the man shouted. WHAT DO I DO?
   The friend turned and looked at the man. He shook his head, his shoulder's rising.
   The water touched his feet, and the friend turned, began climbing. The man began to climb, but he felt the hands grab him. They didn't help him. They grabbed on tight and didn't let go. Soon, the water was up to his waist, and then his chest, and his shoulders. Next, he was under, and throught he wave-light of the water, he could see the silhouette of his friend, now at the top. He he could hear that muffled sound of shouting, that cry of apology. And he began to drown.
   The man was shaken awake, and his eyes opened wide, his lungs expanding with the fresh, cold air. The man looked up and saw his friend standing above him, shaking him from outside the car, the door propped open. The cracks of the light the edged the silhouette of his friend, portrayed a gas station, a Marathon, and other cars, other people.
   The friend touched his shoulder. The man brushed it off immediately, and scrambled to sit upright. he turned and looked at his friend.
   The friend looked at him. You okay?
   The water. . . The water rises.
   The friend's face relaxed. 
   Yeah. I know.
","August 04, 2023 15:27",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,9lay2s,No Visible Threats,Kate Abbasi,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9lay2s/,/short-story/9lay2s/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'American']",7 likes,"
“Safety is not the absence of threat; it is the presence of connection.” -Gabor Matė-They drove to the highlands of Pennsylvania on a two-lane country road. People said Ohiopyle is peaceful in late spring. She offered to drive but he insisted on staying behind the wheel. A man and a woman in a relationship often find it easier to live within the established social norms despite proclaiming their distaste for traditional gender roles. She did not demand to be an equal driving partner; she was happy to gaze at the combed ribbons of soil etched onto the green hillsides.“What do you think they are growing here?” she asked.“I don’t know,” he muttered absently.“Probably grass,” she answered herself, ""but it is ridiculous to turn patches of grass upside down to plant grass"".He did not comment. He knew she invented tidbits of conversation to keep him alert. She could not be idle when others were working; he liked that about her.Soon, the primary colors of red barns, blue sky, green grass, and yellow sunshine changed to a thick forest. She peered into the dusk between the trees.""I used to walk in a forest like this one,"" she said, ""when I was a little girl, my father took me mushroom picking in a forest near my hometown in Russia. I felt comfortable, safe, but now I think of how terrified I would be to walk among these trees.""He could not remember if this was something new about herself she was sharing or if he had heard her tell this before. In ten years of marriage, they must have shared all the stories from their past. When he told his story, he reminisced about playing football. Careful not to call the game soccer, he tried to make her feel like she was there in his hometown of Ahvaz watching his child-sized, barefoot feet kick a plastic ball to other neighborhood boys. But he was never good with words. She had to use her imagination to fill in the details he omitted: the shimmering air rising from the hot concrete street, bright sunshine, silent outdoor kitchens abandoned by women until evening, and the sounds of boys kicking, passing, cheering, running - all twenty-two of them sharing the dream of becoming the next Pele.Her voice interrupted his reverie.“Did you see the junk cars scattered between the trees on the right? A family lives there, among the cars.”“How do you know?” he asked.“I saw four people who looked alike sitting around a picnic table. Their mobile home was set farther in the woods. I wonder what it feels like to come home at night to a house surrounded by a graveyard of rusted cars. Sunlight barely breaks through the trees during the day here. No chance the moon or stars could be of any assistance at night.”He locked the car doors. He preferred to avoid rural America. Away from the diversity and density of the cities, people lived a uniform life. They looked like each other, dressed, talked like each other, and held on tight to the belief that their way of life - the American way of life - was under threat. If he voiced his uneasiness, she would say he is generalizing. Her white skin, blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair blended in with others in these parts. She could move around unnoticed as long as she did not let people hear her accent. He drew attention: his tanned skin, black hair, and sharp nose reminded people of the enemy many joined the army to fight during the war on terror. Together as husband and wife, they formed a beautiful contrast of light and dark; they could never be unnoticed.The car continued to climb up the gentle incline, higher into the highlands. They were aware of the myriad of car parts working in unison under the hood; the force propelling the car forward spread through their bodies. They passed a cemetery, a white Baptist church, and a cluster of unimaginative houses: four walls, a roof, a door in the middle, and two windows on either side.""Do you see the giant billboard in front?"" he asked.""Yes,"" she answered, ""it says 'Play hard, work hard'. But doesn't working hard usually come before playing hard?""""No honey, the words are pRay hard, not pLay hard""""Huh! You are right! 'Pray hard, work hard'. How sad, there’s no reward for hard work in this village. What do you think they pray for?""""To have time for play,"" he answered. They both laughed. He had this ability to use humor to lighten the mood; she liked that about him.The next cluster of houses, about twenty minutes later, contained the house they rented for two days. They wanted to get away from the city, to be near nature, to relax, to breathe fresh air, to hear the bedtime ritual of insects - sounds that are so often drowned out in a human hive.They turned onto a gravel road leading to their rental. ""Don't blame me I voted for Trump"" signs littered the front yards of every house they passed by. ""Everything must be really bad here if people are looking for someone to blame,"" she commented. ""It cannot be that bad. They are charging city prices per night for the house,"" he observed as he pulled into a driveway and put the car into park. The doors unlocked automatically, but he locked them again.""Why did you lock the doors? Is this not our house?"" she asked.""We have neighbors. They are looking at us."" ""Of course, they are looking at us! They are curious about the people in a Lexus. Let's go inside. I'm tired.""""No, look! More men on ATVs!"" She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. There was no point in arguing with him. Images from the insurrection floated up in her mind: the viciousness of the mob, of white men breaking down the doors of the Capitol. All it took was an instigator to declare the government responsible for people's woes. Maybe the men next door have grievances they want to blame on foreigners. Perhaps one of them is an instigator. She opened her eyes and looked out of the window. A chamomile flower gently swayed under the weight of a butterfly. The shadow from the tree in the front yard grew longer. The men next door began to disperse. He unlocked the car doors. She pushed the lock button on the door and said, ""Let's go home. We will not find peace here.""
","August 04, 2023 18:24",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,hctez3,Road Trip,Rose Belle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hctez3/,/short-story/hctez3/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Friendship', 'Creative Nonfiction']",7 likes,"
	“Next time, I’m driving.”
	Gareth rolled his eyes as the rain drummed against the car. “It was one wrong turn, just one wrong turn.”
	“You should have looked up directions sooner.” Lucy groaned. “Are we there yet?”
	“I told you ten minutes ago: we still have three hours to go,” he sighed. “Why don’t you turn on your music or something?”
	“My phone’s dead. Can I charge it?”
	“No, we need my phone to find our way back home.”
	“What if we turn on the radio?”
	“I need to focus on the roads, especially in this heavy rain.”
	“You’re no fun.”
	“I’m sorry, do you want to make it home safely or not?”
	He heard his younger sister grumble and mentally counted it as a win, until she decided to retaliate. Soon his ears were filled with the humming of a certain song she knew annoyed him!
	Gareth tried to count to ten in his head, though it proved to be easier said than done with how loud Lucy was being.
	“Just keep the music down.” he caved.
	Without hesitation, she went straight to the heavy metal station. To which he immediately turned off.
	“Hey!” she protested.
	“I said keep the music down. In weather like this, I need to concentrate.” Gareth countered.
	Lucy muttered. “Killjoy.”
	“You turned it to that station solely to annoy me because you’re bored and you know it.” he stated. “I’ve known you too long to fall for your tricks that easily.”
	“Debatable.”
	“Is it though?”
	Thunder echoed all around them, causing them both to jump.
	Lucy pulled her jacked over her head like a blanket.
	“We’re perfectly safe in here,” Gareth tried to reassure her. “It just sounds really loud.”
	In the back of his mind, he noted how the lightning stretched itself across the whole sky, testing its limits. This, of course, he didn’t mention to his sister.
	“We’re halfway home, just hold on a little longer.”
	Another chorus of thunder rang out, and Lucy curled up into a ball in her seat.
	Gareth sighed. “Are you still hungry? We still have some snacks in the back if you want any.”
	His sister gave a muffled, “No, thank you.”
 Okay, that didn’t work, he thought. Guess it’s time for Plan B.
	“Would you mind grabbing something for me from the glove box pretty quick?” he asked.
	After several moments of silence, he wondered if she heard him at all. He was about to repeat himself when the latch popped up and the glove compartment fell open audibly. A single gasp told him she found the surprise he had been saving.
	“How did you find this?” Lucy picked up the CD and examined it from all sides.
	“I have a friend who’s good at tracking things down on the internet.” Gareth explained. “Originally, I was thinking of giving you that for your birthday, though maybe this is also a good time for it.”
	He didn’t glance her way, though he could see her soft smile from the corner of his eye.
	Without another word, Lucy put the CD into the console and waited. A few short seconds later, music from their childhood filled the car. Which in turn resulted in their minds pulling up memories they’d otherwise forgotten.
	Softly, Lucy began to sing. He soon joined in. Neither of them had taken singing lessons, and it would be a stretch to call their singing good, though that was not what mattered in that moment.
	Thankfully, the rain and thunder did let up after a while, much to the siblings’ relief.
	The peace was shortly interrupted when Lucy spotted the signs for the upcoming exits.
	“Can we get something to eat? Please?”
	“We have snacks–” Gareth started, only to have his stomach protest. “Mom’s expecting us to–”
	“We don’t have to get out of the car!” she whined. “Just one drive-through, is that too much to ask?”
	“Remind me again, how old are you?” he teased.
	“As soon as you remind me who the mature one is again.” Lucy shot back.
	“One who is mature doesn’t call herself mature.”
	“Please? You’ll be my favorite big brother?”
	“I’m your only big brother.”
	It took a few minutes, though with the combination of his sister and his stomach’s begging, Gareth gave in.
	“Remember, only one meal and an extra burger.” he warned. “I’m not paying for three meals today.”
	“Yes sir! You’re the best!”
	He rolled his eyes as he waited his turn. “You better pick now, while we’re sitting here.”
	A struggle to decide, a hasty decision, and an order later, they were back on the road. The scent of greasy fast food was sealed in with them as they moved on.
	Gareth sank his teeth into his burger, each favor fighting for dominance. Not the best burger I’ve ever had, but not the worst either. A decent find.
	Lucy, on the other hand, consumed her food so fast an observer would mistake her for a blackhole.
	“One would think that you didn’t eat on campus,” he said wryly. “If Mom saw that, she’d be worried sick about you and charge right to your dorm and make sure your fridge was stocked before going back.”
	“Maybe,” Lucy yawned. “That is a tempting idea.”
	Gareth rolled his eyes.
	His sister curled up in her seat and quickly drifted asleep.
 Note-to-self: On the next road trip, make sure Lucy has plenty to eat and plenty to do.
	He reached over to shut off the music yet paused for a moment. Changing his mind, Gareth turned it down a bit.
 Only one hour left, he sighed. I can work with that.
	Lucy remained curled up under her jacket, out like a light for a good forty minutes before waking back up again. Though done with her nap, it took her a solid ten minutes for her mind to fully function again; just in time to recognize familiar surroundings.
	At this point, Gareth had turned his phone off; it would be hard for him to get lost in the neighborhood he grew up in.
	Smiles formed on the duos’ faces as their home came into view. Their mother opened the door and ran out to greet them.
	Unbuckling, Lucy gave one last comment.
	“Next time, I’ll drive.”
 
","August 04, 2023 22:15","[[{'Nina Herbst': 'A sweet story of siblings making their way home. You revealed their bond through their dialogue and thoughts. Nice job! :)', 'time': '22:33 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,03qq96,Age of Regret ,Ilise NW,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/03qq96/,/short-story/03qq96/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
In the deep silence of the night, an old man lay nestled in the back of his antique station wagon, surrounded by the darkness and the weariness of his years. His breathing was steady, a rhythmic lullaby to the world around him. The faint glow of the moon filtered through the windows, casting a fragile light on the memories etched into the creases of his weathered face. A sudden jolt shattered the tranquility, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of his car doors slamming shut. The older man's eyes fluttered open, fully alert to his surroundings. His heart raced, the beat of his pulse drowning out the sounds of the intruders in the front seats. Two young boys in their teens, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard, engaged in hushed conversation. Their voices reached the older man's ears in fragments, like distant echoes bouncing off the walls of his consciousness. They marveled at the vintage relic before them, their excitement palpable even in their whispered words.
Cory searches for the keys in the driver seat and finds them underneath the driver seat, along with food crumbs and rock fragments. Ignoring the grainy bits on his hands, he takes the key and turns on the car. The engine roared to life, its growl resonating within the metal confines of the station wagon. A digital screen's pale blue light pierced the darkness as one of the teenagers, Theo, pulled out his smartphone to capture the moment. With a grin, he turned the camera towards his accomplice."" Yo, Cory, what's your words for the gram?"" Theo's voice rippled with playful sarcasm, a mask for the tension in the air.
Cory leaned back, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm and mischief. ""I got some wheels boy!"" Theo chuckled, capturing Cory's proclamation before turning the camera back to himself. ""And there you have it, some words from my boy Cory. Peace out!"" He lowered his phone, the laughter between them a fleeting release from the mounting unease. Cory's enthusiasm took on a sinister edge as he focused on the task. ""Theo, you ready to take it for a spin?"" His voice carried a hint of adrenaline-fueled excitement, a daredevil's thrill. Theo's response equally charged, the anticipation of the reckless act ahead drawing a dangerous sparkle into his eyes. ""You know it."" Unseen in the shadows, the older man's heart pounded. His frail form lay frozen, shrouded by blankets, a silent witness to the unfolding intrusion. His thoughts whirled like a storm, a cascade of questions and uncertainties. Should he reveal his presence and confront these intruders, or should he remain hidden, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself? The older man's muscles tensed as his mind grappled with the decision, a battle between self-preservation and the desire to protect his property.
The station wagon rumbled as Cory put his foot on the gas; the older man clung to the memories that had brought him to this moment. The echoes of his past reverberated within him, mingling with the present circumstances. The car that held his history now carried the weight of an unforeseen future, bound to the choices of those who bore its wheel. And so, in the confines of that old station wagon, the stage set for a meeting of lives—youthful exuberance and the burden of age—destined to intertwine in ways none of them could have anticipated. Wrapped in layers of musty blankets, the older man remained a hidden observer in the back of the station wagon. His body remained still, but his mind churned with fear and doubt. His internal monologue intensified as the vehicle's engine thrummed and the world outside whizzed by.
 
Old Man's Racing Thoughts:
""I should yell at them, startle them out of the car. But what if they're armed? Or worse, what if they panic and crash the car? No, I can't risk that. Maybe they're just joyriders, oblivious to my presence. Could they know I'm in here? Am I a pawn in their sinister plan? What should I do? Where is my phone? I could call someone. But the car is too quiet, they would hear me. All this rolling around with reckless driving, I feel tossed like a forgotten memory in the trunk. I'm too old for this second-guessing. I should have spoken up earlier and asserted my presence. All this time, and I'm still filled with regrets. A bitter reminder of all the missed opportunities. I've lived a lifetime; I should know how to face this.""
Theo's voice interrupted the older man's frustrated tumultuous thoughts, drawing him back to the present.
""Theo: Cory, do you think this car has an aux cord?""
Their futile search yielded no aux cord, but Cory's discovery of a small speaker in the bag sparked an idea. The car's interior soon filled with the pulse of music, its rhythmic beats mirroring the energy that rushed through the older man's veins. The teenagers laughed and whooped, the notes of their impromptu soundtrack merging with the bustling of the engine. With each sharp turn and sudden acceleration, the older man clung to his precarious position, his body shifting uncontrollably within the confines of the trunk. The world around him spun, a reflection of his disoriented thoughts. He wrestled with the urge to take action, to break free from his self-imposed prison and confront the interlopers head-on.
But uncertainty held him captive, and fear of the unknown paralyzed his resolve. He had seen enough of life to recognize the irreversible consequences of rash decisions. And so, he endured the wild ride, a silent passenger to his own stolen vehicle. As the old station wagon careened down back roads, its tires gripping the pavement with desperate tenacity, the teenagers' laughter and the music's thumping beat merged into an adrenaline-fueled drum. The older man's body bumped and rolled with the car's every twist and turn, his breath hitching with each jolt. In the chaos of the moment, his thoughts continued to churn, a spiral of regret and introspection. He longed for the strength to assert himself, to reclaim his agency from the clutches of fear. His gnarled hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as if seeking to anchor himself to reality. And so, within the confines of that old station wagon, three lives hurtled forward—two driven by youthful audacity and one bound by the weight of age and missed chances. The path of their journey matched the beat of the older man's heart, an intricate dance of emotions and uncertainties that would ultimately converge at a crossroads of fate.
The wild ride began to ease, the station wagon's frenetic swaying slowing as the reckless teenagers gradually halted their impromptu escapade. The older man clung to his blankets in the back, nursing tender bruises from his involuntary tumbles within the car's confines. As his labored breaths steadied, the blaring music was silenced, replaced by an almost eerie stillness that settled over the vehicle. With a sense of relief mingled with trepidation, the older man cautiously raised himself, his joints protesting the movement. His eyes flickered to the dim outlines of the car's interior, a quiet testament to the passage of time. He knew that the moment of reckoning was drawing near, a collision of worlds that could no longer be avoided. As the teenagers exited the stolen vehicle, the older man's attention was drawn to the back window. He felt an inexplicable urge to peer outside, to gaze upon the world beyond the confines of the station wagon. With a mixture of curiosity and unease, he lifted himself onto his elbows and turned his head; his gaze fixated on the small rectangle of glass that offered a glimpse of the unknown. Outside, the world seemed to blur past in a haze of darkness and shadows. The older man squinted, trying to make sense of the fleeting glimpses of trees and distant lights. And then, as if a veil had been lifted, his heart seized within his chest. In the distance, a pair of lights pierced the darkness, steadily growing larger and brighter with each passing second.
A surge of panic coursed through the older man's body, his breath catching in his throat. He watched in disbelief as the truth unfolded before him. The station wagon was situated on the train tracks, its fate sealed by the inevitable approach of the oncoming train. The reality of his situation washed over him like a tidal wave, a chilling realization that sent shivers down his spine—time seemed to slow to a crawl as the older man's eyes remained locked on those approaching lights. His mind raced, a flurry of fragmented thoughts converging into stark truth. He was trapped, an unwitting passenger in a vehicular coffin with a train hurtling toward him. The older man's world narrowed to those two glaring lights as the train's distant rumble grew into a deafening roar. He clung to the edges of his reality, his gnarled fingers gripping the edges of the blanket that had shielded him. The world seemed to blur the convergence of past and present, choice and consequence. Amidst the chaos, a final moment of clarity emerged. The older man's eyes locked onto the teenagers, their faces illuminated by the pale glow of their smartphones as they captured the chaos unfolding before them. In that fleeting instant, their gazes met—a profound exchange of recognition and horror. And in that heart-stopping moment, a final epiphany emerged. The older man's gaze shifted from the teenagers to the reflection in the back window, his own eyes meeting his in the dimly lit interior. A lifetime of missed opportunities, regrets, and unspoken words flashed before him, a haunting montage of a life half-lived.
The train's force obliterated the station wagon, shattering shrapnel and debris like stars in the night sky. Amid the cataclysm, the older man's final thoughts were a whispered plea for forgiveness, a desperate hope that those he left behind would find solace amidst the wreckage of his life. And as the echoes of the collision faded into the void, the station wagon's twisted remnants bore witness to the profound impact of a chance encounter. The older man's journey reached its poignant conclusion, his story forever entwined with the destiny of two reckless souls whose choices had altered the course of their lives.
 
 
","August 05, 2023 00:46","[[{'Sam Porter': 'There are some lovely passages of writing here. And the story was very thought-provoking. There was a quick change in tense in the second paragraph that broke the flow for me momentarily but overall I enjoyed this piece :)', 'time': '04:58 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ilise NW': 'Thank you so much for the kind words and helpful feedback!!', 'time': '02:43 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ilise NW': 'Thank you so much for the kind words and helpful feedback!!', 'time': '02:43 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,1dhkz0,“Thoughts My Only Companions”,A. M. Conger,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1dhkz0/,/short-story/1dhkz0/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
“Shotgun,” said Eddy while looking down on Stu.
“Don’t be a jerk. I was here first,” said Stu.
“So? I was here last. Get out.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Don’t care.”
“Come on guys,” said Ivan from the backseat. “You know your nattering makes Fred uneasy.”
“Yeah, Stu, ‘your nattering makes Fred uneasy’,” Eddy mocked while gesturing for Stu to get in the back.
Stu slid in next to Ivan while Eddy wiggled, gleefully into the passenger seat.
Fred, a middle-aged man sitting in an outdated car, sighed loudly and put the car in drive.
Rolling out of the driveway, Ivan asked, “Everything ok, Fred?”
Fred nodded unconvincingly, and turned right at the first street.
“You don't seem right,"" said Stu. “What’s goin’ on?”
Fred shrugged and his Costco polo refused to fall back into place.
“I bet it’s his old lady,” Eddy jeered. “She’s been ridin’ his ass for weeks.”
Ignoring Eddy's irreverence, Ivan asked, “Is that what’s bothering you, Fred?”
“She’s just concerned about you,” said Stu, “Ever since you, … you know.”
“Went off the rails on a crazy train,” laughed Eddy.
“It’s not funny,” said Stu.
“I think it is,” said Eddy.
“Is that what’s going on, Fred,” Ivan asked. “Is she worried about you not taking your medication?”
Fred merged on to the highway and away from the conversation.
“Anything we can do to help?” Stu asked.
“By ‘we,’ he means he, I ain’t doin’ shit for you,” Eddy turned the radio up.
“Don’t be an ass, Eddy,” said Stu, “and, turn that down.”
“No and no,” said Eddy turning the music up louder and reclining his chair into Stu’s lap.
Ivan and Stu huddled together and whispered while Ozzy Osbourne blared from the speakers.
Suddenly, Eddy yelled, “Stop the car!” He threw his seat back to an upright position and killed the radio with a slap.
Slowing down and pulling over, Fred asked, “What?”
“That!” Eddy laughed and pointed to a young woman wearing cutoff jeans and a smile. Her long, brown waves frolicked on her freckles as she walked toward the car.
“This is a bad idea,” warned Stu.
“Shut-up, Stu. No one asked you,” said Eddy, rubbing his hands together and chortling.
The girl skipped through the gravel, tossing her beat-up backpack over her shoulder.
“Come on, Freddy, let’s do it. She hot!” said Eddy.
“Ivan? What do you think?” asked Fred.
“I don’t know. It seems like a bad idea, but it’d be rude to leave now,” said Ivan.
“Stu?” asked Fred.
“Don’t ask him,” interjected Eddy, “He ruins everything.”
“Thanks a lot, Eddy,” said Stu, “I was actually going to agree with Ivan. It’d be mean to leave her here, especially since you already stopped.”
Eddy looked over his shoulder in surprise, “Really?”
“Really,” said Stu, “Sometimes doing the right thing can coexist with doing the stupid thing.”
Missing the point of Stu’s moral teaching, Eddy turned back around as his door opened.
“Well, hello, Nurse!” Eddy whistled while sliding up and around the young woman.
Smiling, she dropped down next to Fred and said, “Thanks! I really appreciate the ride.”
“You’re welcome,” said Fred. “Where are you headed?”
“As far as you’ll take me,” she answered. “I’m trying to get to Cali by next week, so any miles you can shave off for me, would be fantastic!”
“I can shave off a few. Buckle up.”
Fred cautiously pulled back on to the highway, and she asked, “Where are you headed?”
Not sure how to answer or what the answer was, Fred said, “Not sure.”
“Not sure?” she giggled, “How could you not know where you’re going?”
“It’s complicated. I planned on going somewhere but started to change my mind.”
“You’re weird.” She laughed and rolled down her window.
Fred looked in the rearview mirror and saw Eddy making obscene gestures behind the young woman’s seat.
Stu slapped Eddy’s hands down and looked back at Fred for support.
As a distraction Fred asked, “Aren’t you nervous about hitchhiking? Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Nah. That’s just what parents tell kids to scare them. I’ve been hitchhiking for years, nothing ever happens.”
Fred nodded as if he understood, then continued, “What’s in California?”
“It’s a who, not a what, actually. It’s my dad. I haven’t seen him since I was a little girl. I’m super excited.”
In the mirror, Ivan turned to make eye-contact with Fred.
“Why haven’t you seen him in so long,” asked Fred.
“He was in prison,” she said as casually as if he had been on a long vacation.
Sensing Eddy’s reaction, and fearing he would say something inappropriate, Fred quickly said, “Really?”
“Yeah, he did some hard time, but now he’s out.”
“I bet it was hard,” said Eddy.
Stu glared at Eddy, and Ivan begged Fred with his eyes to make it stop.
“Sorry, about that,” said Fred.
“That’s ok,” she said. “It’s not your fault. Everyone’s responsible for their own actions.”
“True,” said Fred.
Stu crossed his arms and rolled his eyes while Eddy leaned forward.
“What he’d do,” asked Eddy.
“He killed someone,” she started. “He didn’t mean to, but … still.”
Looking disgusted, Eddy flopped back and said, “WTF?”
“He was an alcoholic. He used booze to self-medicate his mental health issues. Unfortunately, a bartender’s not an adequate replacement for a psychiatrist.” She chuckled.
“You got that right,” Stu agreed.
“And, apparently, a bottle of scotch is no substitute for anti-psychotic medication,” she added.
“Agreed,” said Ivan.
“One night, he went for a drive,” she paused and turned toward Fred, “He wasn’t sure where he was going.” She giggled.
Fred looked over at her. She was beautiful. Her youthful beauty was obvious, but the sincere truth in her tone was truly attractive.
“He drove, and he drank. Then, drank and drove. Then, drove his car right into someone.”
“Oh, come on! What a buzzkill,” complained Eddy.
“Super sad,” she continued. “He wasn’t that old. I barely remember him. He missed out on a lot of good times, but, then again, so did the person he killed.”
“Exactly,” said Stu.
She slapped her tan thighs and declared, “But, he’s out. He’s done, and we get to make up for lost time.”
“That sounds nice,” said Fred.
“It does, doesn’t it.” She had a daydreamy look on her face. “I can’t wait. I’ve missed him.”
Fred smiled and pulled into the bus station. Parking the car, he pulled out his wallet.
“Here,” he handed her a hundred-dollar bill, “This should be enough for a bus ticket to California.”
“What?” She laughed, “Really?”
“Yeah,” he smiled for the first time in a long time.
“You don’t have to buy me a ticket,” she said, still not taking the money.
“I know, but I’d like to. Hitchhiking is dangerous,” he winked at her. “I’d feel better if you didn’t.”
Smiling and taking the bill, she said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, “I’d drive you there myself, but I have to get home to my wife … and daughter.”
“You have a daughter?” Her dimples appeared from within her freckles.
“Yes, about your age.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yes, it is.”
She shut the door, and Fred watched her skip into the station. He put the car in reverse, and Eddy yelled, “Hey, wait, I’m goin’ get back in the front.”
“No,” Fred said, “You’re not.”
Fred drove home alone in silence.
","August 02, 2023 10:38",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,7zob5m,Along the Western Highway,Sam Porter,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7zob5m/,/short-story/7zob5m/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Coming of Age']",7 likes,"
Jangling keys. Loaded bags. Thudding doors. Seatbelts on. Handbrake off and the car’s steady acceleration out of the driveway.
 
The engine purred as we drifted down the street.
 
“We’ll meet your mum and sister on the other side of the border. In Adelaide, okay?” my father said, turning his head to look at me in the seat behind.
 
“And we’ll stop at the bakery when we reach Ballarat. You can get anything you want.”
 
I replied with a grunt. The promise for sweets was a cushion, meant to soften the blow of keeping me in the back seat. I was still too small and still too young to ride in the front where the big kids sat. He turned to face me again.
 
“Son, does that sound good?”
 
His upturned mouth and shining eyes created a sort of sympathetic puppy-dog expression and I betrayed myself, accidentally smiling at the silliness of it.
 
“Yes, okay Dad.”
 
He smiled his kind smile and spun to face the road again, fiddling with the radio frequency on the car’s sound system. Morning talk back. Irate voices, muffled and quick, assaulted the silence.
 
My attention floated out of the car to the waking world outside. The sky, a sheet of gunmetal grey; an edge torn off by a faint line of white on the horizon. First light. I held the tips of two fingers to the window’s edge and ran them along the road outside, making them jump every time a house or light post zipped past. The car began to jolt and my finger action-man fell to his tragic end.
 
“How are the hermit crabs? Dad asked.
 
I examined the container resting on my lap. Two brown shells sat motionless on the hard plastic. My beloveds. We would only be gone a week and Dad said it would be too much hassle to pay a house-sitter to ‘just take care of two crabs.’ So, it was decided. Hermie and Claws would make the arduous journey with us.
 
“The bumps are making them scared Dad. Can you slow it down a bit?”
 
An audible thump sounded from near the front of the car and we were lifted off our seats for a brief second.
 
“Dad! The crabs!”
 
My plea for reform was heard and the needle on the speedometer dropped a few notches.
 
“Sorry, son. It’s the potholes. I’ll take it slowly until we’ve passed them.”
 
I stroked the grooved shells of my beloveds and whispered to them.
 
“You’re both very brave. It’s just part of the adventure.”
 
*
 
Gear in reverse. Beeping sensor. Careful judgement. Handbrake on. High-pitched humming as constrained limbs stretch out to their full length.
 
We had reached our first stop and I was excited for the prospect of a sweet treat. I waited in the car while Dad jogged to the bakery. He never allowed the boundaries of his schedule to be stretched and warped. If he promised an arrival time of 6pm, we’d be there not a minute later.
 
I undid my seatbelt buckle and climbed into the front of the car, making myself comfortable in the passenger seat. I placed my beloveds on my lap and switched on the radio to one of the three channels I could remember. The sounds of a piano, bright and sharp, and an airy voice flooded from the speakers. ABBA. One of Mum’s favourites. I tapped my foot and bobbed my head to the rhythm. The car door opened and Dad handed me a brown paper bag. I peered into it. Lemon slice.
 
“Oh, Classic FM. Good choice!” he said as he peeled back the cardboard flaps of a small milk carton. The action drew my attention.
 
“Dad, what’s so good about that iced coffee anyway? You always drink the same one.”
 
He smacked his lips. “Farmers Union Iced Coffee. There’s nothing better,” he smiled a toothy grin and took another sip.
 
“Not better than strawberry Big M though.”
 
“Want to try some and find out for yourself?” I nodded eagerly and reached my hands out towards him.
 
“Urgh. I hate it! Coffee is gross.” He chuckled at my disgust.
 
“When you’re an adult I’m sure you’ll like the taste of it.”
 
*
 
Open highway. Cruise control. Foil wrappers. Speakers on. Music playing and the sound of a voice singing along to an upbeat melody.
 
A blanket of green hills, their slopes gentle and rounded, extended into the distance. Imposing columns of white stretched into the sky with blades sitting atop them, spinning in silence, or otherwise, not spinning at all. We were passing through one of my favourite locations of the journey; the wind farm. I found a comfort in the looming presence of the structures. Their stability was reassuring, their height inspiring. The towering turbines shrank me to the size of a pebble, reminding me that there were things in the universe far bigger than my small self. I was surprised to find solace in the thought.
 
As we drove on I watched the wind farm shrink in the distance and felt myself become normal-sized again. The song on the radio changed; a mid-tempo beat, smooth bass guitar and a deep voice speaking in dulcet tones, lamenting the loss of a toxic lover.
 
“Yes!” Dad exclaimed. “Love this song! Do you know it, son?” He rotated a grey knob and the volume swelled.
 
“Uhh… don’t think so Dad.”
 
“What? You know Boyz II Men though, right? Otherwise I’ve failed as a father.”
 
“Yeah, they did that song that goes ‘Oooh, no baby please don’t go.’”
 
“No, that’s Chicago. Different band!”
 
“Well they sound kind of similar though.”
 
“What? They’re from completely different decades.”
 
“Well they both sing about similar stuff.”
 
It was the lead-up to the chorus and Dad used the remaining bars to prepare for his solo.
 
Come to the end of the road, still I can’t let go.
 
He misfired on most of the notes and his baritone voice quickly switched to falsetto to compensate for a register he could not reach. An untrained singer, his voice cracked on every third word. But the squeaks failed to smother his conviction. I gritted my teeth, grimacing at the spectacle. I watched him, amused, as the final chorus played out. I think the song felt relieved to be over.
 
Then a terror struck me. My beloveds. Where were they? I searched for the container which had become their temporary home. I couldn’t find them. Panic rose within me. I craned my neck to scan the back seats. I investigated the space underneath them. The side compartments. Even the glove box. Dad sensed my alarm.
 
“What on earth are you looking for?”
 
“Oh no,” I said.
 
“What is it?” Dad asked.
 
“Where are my hermit crabs? I can’t find the container. I didn’t leave them at the last stop, did I?”
 
A strange expression washed over his face, a mixture of concern and disbelief.
 
“Son.”
 
“If they’re hurt, Dad, I’d never forgive myself.”
 
“Son.”
 
“I literally just had them on my lap before. I don’t understand.”
 
“Son!” The volume snapped me out of my conniption and I stared at him. He continued.
 
“I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” His tone was serious but soft. “You don’t have any hermit crabs.”
 
I shook my head as if it was a battery, hoping it would suddenly spark my memory.  
 
“What?”
 
“You used to, Son. But they died years ago.
 
“Remember?”
 
*
 
Nervous energy. Careful instruction. Indicator on. Waiting to merge. A collective sigh of relief as the car safely makes its way into the next lane.
 
I sat in the driver’s seat while Dad stared ahead from the passenger’s side. He was a bundle of anxious energy.
 
“You could’ve waited a bit longer with the indicator on before you got into the next lane,” he said. I rolled my eyes.
 
“I waited two seconds so surely that’s enough time for them to know.” My tone was sharper than I intended but it didn’t pierce Dad’s thick skin.
 
“It’s always better to be on the safe side when driving. People can be unpredictable.” I knew he was only looking out for me but I was growing tired of his constant criticism of my driving.
 
We were in rural country. Bushy shrubs and eucalypts claimed their territory on the russet earth. Lakes of murky brown spilled over the plains of grass from a recent rainfall. The koala-grey road continued to guide us through the countryside.
 
An extended silence left us to our private thoughts for entertainment. It wasn’t awkward. It was never awkward. I thought about school and my friends, the book I was reading, planet Neptune, my stomach, SpongeBob, and the warmth of the sun shining through the windows. I put my sunglasses on. Dad broke the silence.
 
“What units do you think you’ll choose for school next year?”
 
“Really, Dad? It’s school holidays.”
 
“Well, you’ve got to plan for your future.”
 
“I don’t want to think about the future. It’s too stressful.”
 
“It’s going to come at you sometime. Better to be prepared.” I bit the inside of my cheek as I stared at the road. Dad noticed. He always noticed.
 
“What are you worried about?” he asked.
 
I inhaled the air and held on to it tightly. It escaped in one quick gust of breath.
 
“I’m worried I’ll choose the wrong thing.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“I mean I like biology but I really want to do those music units instead. But I know it’s not going to lead to anything for a long-term career really.”
 
I glanced at him, searching for an answer in his expression. He was looking out the passenger window, eyes moving rapidly from right to left as he skimmed each section of the passing landscape.
 
“Son, I’m going to give you some advice. I’ve enjoyed my life and am so grateful that it led me to be a parent to you and your sister, but I always wish I’d taken more risks when I was younger. Life is about taking those risks and they might not always pay off, but at least you won’t live to regret it.”
 
A warmth spread through me. I smiled at him. He scanned the road through the windows around him, checking to see if any cars were approaching from behind.
 
“Now, this time wait at least 5 seconds to indicate, then merge into the next lane.”
 
*
 
Road works. Tedious riddles. Warm Coke cans. Petrol top-up. Lively chatter as the car passes the halfway mark.
 
The sun drifted to the west ever so slightly. We ate the last bites of our salad rolls from a bakery in a nearby town, ignoring the sign hanging out front boasting ‘the best pies in the state.’ I continued to drive and this part of the journey was another carried out in silence. The road trip was a form of therapy for me. I created a five-year-plan in my head and then created three more backup options in case the first one fell through. I knew deep down that all of those plans would probably be made superfluous by an unpredictable universe but it soothed my anxiety to formulate them anyway.
 
The land we drove through was dry and the scent of smoke crept through the crevices of the car. A black plume ahead revealed the cause; a controlled area of back burning. Orange flames flickered up the black trunks of trees. They became charred and motionless with no leaves to carry the wind. In time, fresh shoots of green would spring from the scorched bark and the trees would grow taller than ever before. That was the thing about life, it always found a way to adapt after its darkest hour.
 
We continued onwards. The silence carried a heaviness with it now. I looked over at Dad. He was watching the world zoom by at 110 kilometres per hour, eyes darting back and forth, back and forth. A sign flew by, indicating that the border into the next state wasn’t far off.
 
“Son, stop the car up ahead.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I need you to stop the car up ahead.” We were approaching a small turnout lane and I pulled the car over and turned the engine off. A fear tingled my fingers.
 
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
 
A pause.
 
“I can’t go any further. I’m sorry.”
 
My voice wavered and I cleared my throat.
 
“I don’t understand, Dad. We’re nearly at the border. It won’t be long after that.”
 
He stared ahead. I continued.
 
“Do you need something? We can stop at the next servo if you want.”
 
“No.”
 
“Then what is it?”
 
“It’s hard to explain. But I can’t go any further. I’m sorry.”
 
I didn’t understand. I was getting angry. We’d come all this way and done this drive a million times before. Why couldn’t he give me a reason?
 
“Just tell me why.”
 
“You can still go. You’re old enough to drive on your own now. Tell your mum and sister I’m doing alright.”
 
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
 
My voice carried a heat with it. He smiled at me. His kind smile. It was intended to soothe but the frustration in my chest prevented me from receiving any sort of consolation. I calmed my voice.
 
“We’re going to be late for family dinner if we don’t keep moving. I’m going to keep driving.”
 
I turned the keys in the ignition. The engine hummed to life and I merged back onto the highway. I could feel Dad’s stare on my face.
 
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
 
*
 
Heavy rainfall. Continuing silence. Wipers on. Headlights too. Counting down the hours as the journey begins to take a toll.
 
The car moved under a liquid, black sky. Driving conditions were dangerous. I turned on the radio, Classic FM, but the signal did not reach. Only crackling static buzzed from the speakers. Headlights from behind stabbed my eyes through the reflection of the rear-view mirror. I was blinded and blinked in quick succession to gain my sight back. Pools of grey obscured my vision as a convoy of semi-trailer trucks closed in on me. My breath quickened. I couldn’t distinguish the lines on the road. The rain fell. Hard. I wiped the fog from the window. The trucks, unpredictable and domineering, crept into my lane. I leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled. A hidden pothole revealed itself from the darkness. Instinct took over. My hands spun the wheel until it hit its limit. Tyres slipped on the wet road and the trucks honked their angry horns. I managed to gain control of the car and pulled it back into the lines of the lane.
 
“Dad, I’m really scared. Are you okay?”
 
He didn’t answer.
 
“Dad? Is there anything I can do to get out of this?”
 
I turned my head to the passenger seat. It was empty.
 
“Dad?”
 
The realisation hit me with the force of a cement block. I felt ill, dizzy. I wanted to throw up but nothing came out. I choked on my breath and I coughed and I spluttered. Tears never came to relieve me from the tightness in my body. I blinked, rapidly, hoping that each time my eyes opened I would wake from this dream or enter an alternate timeline where everything was different. But each time the blackness cleared from my vision, nothing changed.
 
*
 
Windows down. Warm breeze. Iced coffee carton. Golden hour. Deep breaths as the birds sing loudly in the trees.
 
From my parked car, I stared out at the playground my sister and I loved to explore as kids. Behind the usual equipment of slides and fireman poles stood a long metal bar stretched the width of the park. A wheeled-carriage moved along it, a sort of manual monorail, that relied on gravity to propel it forward. The unique feature made the playground special and my sister and I used to plead with Mum and Dad to let us stop at the park to ride the carriage.
 
I watched it in action as a family played on it. The parents pushed the carriage along the rail and ran alongside it as their children zipped to the other end of the park. They squealed and laughed in excitement and their parents shared in their joy. I smiled, turned on the engine and merged onto the highway.
 
*
 
Paved driveway. Flowering garden. Handbrake on. Navigation off. Keys being pulled out of the ignition and the slow clicking of the engine as it cools down.
 
It was night now. I waited in the car long after I’d arrived at my destination. The 704 kilometres of road had given me plenty of time to reflect but I needed another 704. Maybe there wasn’t enough road in the world for me to think up the answers to questions that unsettled my mind. I indulged my thoughts a few minutes more.
 
My father’s mother came out of the house and walked to the passenger side of my car. I unlocked the door and she took a seat next to me.
 
“Hi Grandma, sorry I’m a bit late. We might have to push the dinner reservation back a bit.”
 
She hugged me and buried her face into my shoulder. Through tears, she spoke.
 
“I’m so grateful you made to journey to see me. I’ve really missed you.”
 
I felt a wetness on my own cheek.
 
“I’ve really missed you too.”
","August 05, 2023 01:33",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,9o3mcv,"""Mandarin House"" (Prologue)",Gennadii Seliverstov,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9o3mcv/,/short-story/9o3mcv/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'American', 'Mystery']",7 likes,"
 
""Look, Daddy, look!"" The girl in the pink sundress points her finger at a deer that has just disappeared behind the trees.
""Daddy, was that a dog?"" Teia asks, bursting into wild laughter at her own question.
""No, sweetheart, that was a deer.""
""I'm a little deer,"" Alexa says, placing two index fingers against her forehead, demonstrating imaginary antlers to confirm her words.
Teia smiles uncertainly and asks, ""Daddy, are there many deer here?""
""Well, we have at least one in our car,"" the father replies, nodding towards Alexa, then continues, ""In the state of Pennsylvania, there are many deer, around three million, and they often cause accidents.""
""What's Pennsylvania?"" Alexa asks.
""And how do they cause accidents?"" Teia asks. ""Well, they often run onto the road and cars hit them.""
""Poor deer,"" Teia concludes, ""they must hurt a lot.""
""What's Pennsylvania?"" Alexa repeats, adding, ""And is a million more than a hundred?""
""But what about the people who get into accidents because of the deer? Don't you feel sorry for them?""
""No, I don't feel sorry,"" Teia replies, ""if deer could drive cars, then they could hit people too, but they walk on foot, so they can't hit anyone.""
The man chuckles and ruffles the girl's hair. ""Daddy-Daddy, come on, what's Pennsylvania, and how many is a million?"" Alexa persists, bouncing on the passenger seat as if on a trampoline.
""Pennsylvania is a state in the USA, which borders other states, like New Jersey,"" the man answers, touching his daughter's shoulder to calm her down, ""it's after Trenton, after we crossed the Delaware River, Pennsylvania begins. The river is a symbolic border between the states.""
""So are we in a different country now?"" ""And do the deer get banned from Trenton?"" Alexa struggles with the letter 'R,' so in words where it appears, she simply avoids pronouncing it.
""No, why would they? It's all one country.""
""But why have these borders then?""
""Sweetie, people on Earth are always trying to separate something: they divide the planet into countries, they divide themselves by nationality, religion, skin color, who eats meat and who doesn't, they even categorize based on who prefers a certain brand of phone or clothing."" ""What foolish people,"" Alexa remarks, ""isn't it better to be together? Deer don't behave like that, do they, Daddy?""
""No,"" the man replies, lips curving into a smile as he evaluates his daughter's reasoning.
""Then deer are smarter than people,"" the older daughter concludes, satisfied with her deduction, and takes out a piece of chewing gum from a paper wrapper, starting to unwrap it. Meanwhile, the white Dodge Ram enters Interstate 95, gliding on the darkening asphalt past Bensalem, Andalusia, Torresdale, passing Holmesburg and Tacony, and other neighborhoods in the northeastern part of Philadelphia.
""Wow, so beautiful!"" exclaims Teia as they approach the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, and to their left remains a massive red building with an image of the American flag and an equally large red pipe.
""Central Phila,"" Alexa reads from the green sign on the road, ""are we going to Central Philly?""
""No, sweetie,"" the father responds, ""we're heading to California."" He tells Teia to wake up Mom.
""Cal-i-for-nia,"" Alexa mysteriously pronounces each syllable, as if it were an incantation, and continues to chew her gum with particular determination. Meanwhile, Teia disappears beneath a homemade canopy that separates the car's cabin from its cargo space.
""Daddy-Daddy, Mommy's not breathing,"" suddenly says Teia, her head popping out from under the blue fabric. The corners of her lips droop, and her eyes look imploringly at her father. The man looks over his shoulder and doesn't say anything.
""Maybe Mommy's just sound asleep,"" Alexa suggests, her gaze fixed on the shimmering lights of the skyscrapers on Market Street.
""No, she's not sleeping,"" Teia replies, ""she's all cold and stiff, like a stone."" The man tries to reach behind the seat, where his wife lies on a fold-out bed, to check if this is true. By touch, he finds his wife's long hair scattered on the pillow and traces her neck and the line of her neck, checking for a pulse.
""I think, girls, that Mommy has passed away,"" the man concludes, as a doctor might.
""That's bad,"" Alexa sighs heavily, as if not speaking out loud but pondering over it. She pinches a piece of chewing gum between her fingers and pulls it out of her mouth, like rewinding a cassette tape.
""Why did she die, Daddy, she was so young and not sick?"" Teia asks, settling more comfortably on the lid of a portable cooler between the front seats.
""People die, sweetheart, not always when they're sick, although that often happens,"" the parent responds.
""And it's not about how old they are, whether they're young or old. They die when people stop thinking about them.""
""Think-ing-ing,"" Alexa repeats, and simultaneously, like a shredder tearing through paper, she stuffs the gum back into her mouth, resembling a cookie monster from Sesame Street at that moment.
At the border between the states of Pennsylvania and Delaware, their car is pulled over by the police.
""Your documents, sir,"" says the officer, who has just approached from the passenger side, carefully studying the driver, his behavior, the car's interior, and the items within it. He notices a large number of mandarins scattered throughout the cabin: most of them are on the seat, some on the floor mat, a couple on the dashboard, and a few in the side compartment of the door. The officer asks, ""Are you traveling alone, or do you have other passengers?""
He takes out a flashlight and shines it near the driver's face, making sure that his appearance matches the photo on his driver's license.
""I'm traveling alone, officer, hauling cargo from Newark to Fontana, California,"" the driver responds calmly, almost melancholically.
""Is the back door of the van open?""
""Yes,"" the man replies shortly, and the police officer walks away. In the right side mirror, you can see how he, along with the flashlight beam, disappears into the darkness, his shadow vanishing behind the car's rear fender.
Almost immediately, a muffled click and metallic creaking sound of a door opening can be heard. The flashlight's glow penetrates through the canopy and scatters on the windshield. The driver feels the floor of the car sink a bit, which corresponds to the sensation of someone climbing inside.
The officer returns, his disappointment evident in his expression. The policeman thinks, ""Strange. This guy really does seem to be traveling alone, but when he drove past me, I could have sworn I saw him gesturing and looking at someone. It's as if he was interacting with someone, touching someone."" Aloud, the officer says something else, specifically: ""You were probably so engrossed in a phone call that you crossed the dividing line a few times and drove onto the shoulder."" He finishes with the routine phrase: ""Are you feeling well?""
""I'm fine, officer. Sorry, I must have been a little tired,"" the man responds, while thinking, ""How did he not notice the woman's body? It was right in front of him.""
""You should take a rest,"" the policeman advises, ""to avoid causing an accident."" Privately, he thinks, ""There's something off about this guy, but if there is, let it be another patrol's concern, and in a different state.""
Out loud, the officer adds, ""I'll give you a warning, because your rear left turn signal isn't working, and two clearance lights on the roof are out. Try to get them fixed soon.""
This road, it's been every year of his life, and it's been different over these six years. Rainy. He remembered how tropical hurricanes caught up with him several times in Florida and Louisiana. Sweltering almost every summer, be it Laredo in Texas or everywhere in the state of Nevada, where you'd roll down the window at speed and feel the air scorch your hand like it came from a hairdryer.
Foggy roads often came in spring and autumn in the northern part of Texas, only at night, and he remembered how he'd stop until morning, waiting for the rising sun in the east to melt the impassable milky wall.
In the winter months, the most dangerous stretch was Wyoming, snowy and windy. The winds blew here year-round, forcing you to slow down, threatening to overturn the car with their gusts. At the Salt Lake City pass, there was a spot with a long descent where accidents happened many times, catastrophes on a grand scale.
For six long years, he lived on the road in his ""Mandarin House,"" as he affectionately called his car. Six unbearable years he didn't see his children and his wife, and now that he'd found them again, she was gone.
In the rearview mirror attached to the windshield, the driver kept catching his own gaze. In the dim light, his eyes seemed sunken, glassy, like a dead man's, black as if devoid of whites.
New, yet already deep wrinkles on his forehead from the bright American sun formed uneven lines, like those depicting waves on ancient Greek clay amphorae. And he was a new hero of the Iliad, another Odysseus, having left home, family, now slicing through the spaces of the unknown beneath and before him, sailing toward a horizon that was receding from him just as continuously as he was trying to reach it.
The mere thought that his wife, even if dead, was beside him in the darkness of the van—lying there motionless, covered in the dust that had settled from the upholstery—led him to a thought as sinful as it was desired. He reluctantly pushed it away, remembering how many times in the past he'd awakened her from sleep with passionate kisses, while she still didn't fully understand what was happening to their bodies.
Just before Nashville, from under the partition's canopy, first emerged Alexia, and then Teia. The girls looked completely different, significantly older. They had transformed from 5 and 7-year-old little ones into charming teenagers. The elder daughter slumped into the passenger seat, her slender and quite long legs no longer fitting as before. She tossed them onto the dashboard and leaned her fingers against the glass. She worked her jaw greedily, like a press, and as before, continued to torment the flesh of her chewing gum. She wore a white dress, quite short, enough to cover her sharp knees and rounded calves, clad in fair skin. Blonde hair cascaded in waves down the shoulders of the daughter, and her bangs were held with a thin strip of metallic hairpin.
""You've gotten so gray, Daddy,"" Alexia only said and slightly lowered the window. Immediately, a warm breeze of night and fragrant Tennessee air rushed into the cabin.
Teia didn't lag behind her sister in any way, wearing dark blue shorts and a white T-shirt with the inscription ""Virgin.""
""Where have you been all this time?"" the father exclaimed in amazement.
""We were hiding,"" Alexia replied shortly, and after glancing at her sister, she smiled.
""From the policeman?"" the parent asked.
""No! From what policeman?"" the elder daughter was surprised, looking at Teia with wide-open eyes. ""We were hiding from you.""
They laughed at each other.
""Where are we going, Daddy?"" Alexia continued her questioning.
""We're going to Monterey, sweetie.""
""And what's Monterey?""
""Monterey is a city in the state of California, on the shores of the Pacific Ocean.""
""Cool!"" Alexia exclaimed. ""I've wanted to go there for a long time.""
""Why are we going there, Dad?"" Teia asked, pressing her cheek against his hand and occasionally sniffing his armpit, saying ""yuck"" each time, then sniffing again, scrunching her face, and wrinkling her nose wings once more.
""We're going there because your mom always wanted to see the sunset there.""
""You're so funny, Daddy, - the elder daughter smiled, - she's dead now. How can she see the sunset? She can't even walk.""
""That's okay, - the father replied, - Daddy will hold her in his arms, and we'll all go to the ocean together.""
""And leave her there?"" - the teenager exclaimed in excitement.
""That's a great idea, Teia. You're amazing!"" - the man laughed and playfully tried to pinch her nose.
""Dad, stop it!""
They stopped at the ""Johnny Cash"" rest area. Among all the attractions there was a small one-story building under a gray roof, a telephone booth with a black receiver on a thick cord, attached together with the apparatus to a metal plate, and pathways leading in different directions among the grassy turf and massive stone flowerpots.
He didn't dare to go to the part of the van where his wife lay, not out of fear, but because he had nothing to say to her. They all slept together in the front seat, and the man woke up earlier than the others because he felt someone stroking his head. In the dim light of early morning, a thick fog spread before him, eating away at the ground, and it seemed like there was nothing left beneath, as if they were clouds and they were already in the sky.
When a soft knock came at the window, he flinched. Through the narrow slits of his half-closed eyes, the man saw a woman he had once loved deeply, a woman who was now dead. She stood there, semi-naked in a thin, semi-transparent nightgown, looking at him through lowered eyelids and smiling. There was something demonic, sinister, otherworldly about her. The dead woman pressed against the glass, and instead of the steam that should have condensed on it, tiny ice crystals appeared, like frost.
""Daddy,"" Teia addressed the man, having fallen asleep on his chest and probably awakened by the knocking. ""Who is that, Daddy? Is that our mommy?""
The father struggled to shift his gaze to his daughter, but instead of her, he saw a bloodied infant, as if it had just been born, its eyes glowing red, and huge yellow teeth stacked on top of each other gleaming in its mouth.
He must have awakened abruptly, sitting up with a shout. There was no one around, only a young African-American man changing garbage bags in the green steel bins lined along the sidewalk. The janitor was so engrossed in his work that he seemed oblivious to everything happening around him.
""Teia, Alexia,"" the man tried to call out, but no one answered.
And once again, the road stretched ahead, and once again, the loneliness remained with him, an ever-present companion.
Most of the day, Texas landscapes flew by the window, always different no matter which direction you were headed. The southern part drowned in marshy forests, intersected by the deltas of coastal rivers. Closer to Mexico along the southern border, the humid climate gave way to dry, scorching heat. Palms grew more numerous, standing in lonely groups, waving their tufted heads high into the sky, bidding farewell to travelers.
Approaching San Antonio, the man once again noticed how a gentle swathe of blue fabric rose, revealing the sun-kissed face of a girl with bright red lipstick on full lips and hair braided into thick Cuban cigar-like African braids.
""Who are you?"" the man asked, somewhat bewildered.
""Quite amusing, daddy,"" replied the girl, examining her tight-fitting white jeans.
""No, really, there will definitely be a stain,"" she added, then proceeded to chew something with diligence.
""Alexa, is that you?""
""Oh, come on, dad, of course it's me,"" exclaimed the grown-up daughter. ""You act as if you didn't recognize me, huh? Your little deer. Forgot?""
Her laughter rang out in the cabin, and from under the blue shawl came another lovely head, dark-haired, with cascading loose locks, big eyes, and a smile on sensually outlined pencil-like lips.
""Teia?"" the driver asked.
""Ignore it,"" Alexa said to the girl. ""Dad's just joking today.""
""Hi, daddy,"" said the younger daughter, her deep, velvety voice resonating through the car's windows.
""Hi, Teia. Hi, Alexa,"" the man responded with difficulty, not understanding what was happening.
""So, are we still headed to Monterey, daddy?"" the owner of the African braids asked. Without waiting for an answer, she added, ""And Teia's getting married soon. You know, daddy?""
He looked at Teia's face, now flushed either from embarrassment or joy, and felt tears welling up in his eyes.
""Don't cry, daddy,"" his daughter's deep voice sounds, and she adds somewhat randomly, ""don't cry, mom will definitely wake up.""
She strokes his hand and presses her hot cheek against it.
""Boys shouldn't cry,"" Alexa observes seriously, pulling a long tape of chewing gum from her mouth.
In the night, merging with the horizon, the red lights of wind turbines glow. They flicker like the identification lights of aircraft, and their white silhouettes rise above the valley, disturbing the air with the movement of huge blades.
The enormous moon hangs in the sky like a hole in the surface of black fabric. ""Black holes exist for sure, and probably, just like the moon, there are also white ones,"" the driver muses, inhaling the air in the cabin, filled with the scents of hair lacquer, perfume, young girls' skin, and the old cracked leather of the seats, much like his own skin.
""Daddy, why didn't you come for us earlier? Teia and I grew up without you for six years.""
And he doesn't know what to say to them, and the only thing that comes to mind is that he got lost.
""Got lost?"" the older daughter skeptically asks. ""You have a navigator on your phone, and you could have bought a map.""
""Well, you see, my dear, sometimes a person, when they're not living their life right, can easily get lost even with the most detailed map.""
""I don't know,"" Alexa says and opens the window...
 
","August 05, 2023 02:52","[[{'Kaayala Aver': ""This is good! You're very good at conveying the mannerisms and thoughts of children, I believed it."", 'time': '01:09 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Gennadii Seliverstov': 'Thank you so much, sir!', 'time': '17:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Gennadii Seliverstov': 'Thank you so much, sir!', 'time': '17:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gennadii Seliverstov': ""I apologize, but I had to shorten the story by half, as it didn't fit the word count limits for publication. Consequently, the narrative might not be of the best quality, and you might not read the endings of the introductory part of my novel. If anyone desires to read the unabridged story, please write to me, and I will send it to you. Thanks!"", 'time': '03:00 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,0prvjf,The Greatest of All Time,Don Tucker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0prvjf/,/short-story/0prvjf/,Dramatic,0,"['Thriller', 'Crime', 'Fiction']",7 likes,"
       I lit a fresh smoke and hand-cranked the window down a few inches, watching the smoke swirl at my dashboard, fighting for a way to escape into the morning air. The rain relentlessly pounded the roof of my Lincoln Town Car. I was willing to wait it out, I spotted puffy white clouds and blue skies in the distance. Only a passing storm. I flicked the growing pillar of ash onto the sidewalk as a singular fat drop of rain landed on the ember, extinguishing it. I lit another one and coughed until I could feel tiny capillaries cresting to the surface of my cheeks, ready to burst. Most of the blood droplets were able to land in my handkerchief, others dotted the dashboard and steering wheel. The rain transitioned from a downpour to torrential as people on the sidewalk scattered in all directions like cockroaches when you flip on the light switch. Most were headed to work, some were still half-drunk from the night before, stumbling to the diner to soak up the booze with greasy eggs, sausage, and toast before crashing on a couch and sleeping until noon. Ah, to be young again.            I was doing neither, I was just a dying crook with wet pants. Halfway through the cigarette I started to cough again. I tossed it out and tried to crank the window up as my chest burned and heaved. My coughs transitioned into laughs, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you one thing that was funny. I suppose it’s because I’m 74 years old as of next week, and I wasn’t rocking on a porch somewhere out in the country spoiling a whole mess of grandkids. I wasn’t golfing every day with other retirees and sleeping in an air-conditioned condo in Fort Lauderdale, pretending it's not hot, dying a slow death. Maybe that’s what was funny, a few alternate choices some fifty-odd years ago and I probably would be at that country club in Florida, ordering a BLT and an Arnold Palmer in the clubhouse after shooting a quick nine. That actually sounds quite nice right about now.            I couldn’t help but think about the rest of my team, that’s probably what they’re doing right this damn second. George, that man lived for golf, I bet he got those feds to send him somewhere it never snowed, Scottsdale or Savannah maybe. I’m sure they’d do anything he damn pleased after his regurgitation of information in that courtroom. The coward lacked the decency to even look me in the eye when he sat up there. I sat next to lawyers in my nicest suit, stifling a growing cough that felt like television static in my lungs, staring daggers at him. I hope he thinks of me every time he slices a tee shot to the right, which he always does. I hope he can hear me howling as I make the same stupid joke for the hundredth time. Actually George, the hole is that way.           Reggie was an avid outdoorsman and hunter. He gave up more people than George did, I bet he’s got a million acres up in Alaska or Montana somewhere with FBI and ATF butlers doting on his every need. I white-knuckled the steering wheel thinking about his smug smile on top of a horse, riding through a ranch like some desperado. And again, here I was, an old man fresh out of prison with a chest on fire and no money to his name. And wet pants. Until the day I die, which feels to be sooner than later, I’ll never forget turning to see Reggie during my last job. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have to. His eyes expressed contrition and that’s when I knew I was screwed. I’ve been around long enough to know when a job feels right and when it doesn’t. Not a single teller screamed or tried to hit the alarm. They always thought they were so slick when they would slowly back away from the counter after pressing the button. Most banks, right before I got locked up anyway, had those alarms that the tellers could press with their feet. The tellers would take a split-second glance down, making sure to keep their shaking hands in the air. That was my signal to hit the road.We stormed in that day, waving our guns in all directions, spitting out our usual admonitions. Get down on the ground. Wallets, keys, phones, now. Hands, let me see those hands. The words came out but there was no one to tell them to. Not a single customer on a Thursday morning at 9:00? That’s the moment I should have turned around. The teller didn’t even shake or stutter when I shouted through my mask to open the safe before I such-and-such and such-and-such. She pressed the code and spun the giant wheel on the door, creaking it open. I took one glance behind me; George and Reggie were nowhere to be seen. That’s when I was certain I was screwed. The vault door swung open and the tellers hit the deck. It was so beautifully rehearsed, they looked like actors following stage directions.            All I saw was a sea of badges and shotgun barrels emerging from the safe. They could have easily been waiting for me outside, but the feds were always a fan of theatrics. Agent Helton, who has been in unmarked cars in my rearview mirror for the better part of a decade, led the hungry pack of wolves. They’re crookeder than me, I bet they stuffed their pockets in there. Helton held his badge and identification open in front of my face.           “I know who you are, Lou.”           “Nice to see you again, Al,” he remarked, folding his credentials back into his pocket.            Someone told me to get on my knees and I told him where he could stick it. They viewed this as resisting arrest, and I caught the butt of a shotgun to the back of my head. I came to in a holding cell, no George, no Reggie. I rubbed my neck while I imagined them getting their new passports and new lives. They gave them everything. Every last piece of intel for every job I did in the past two years.           There was a time when the FBI considered me the best there was. My picture was posted on the center of every cop’s corkboard from here to Newark. A thorn in the side of every agent who had to look at my picture day after day surrounded by highways of yarn and thumbtacks. But any man, in any profession, is only as good as his team. If I could have done these jobs myself, I would have. And I did as a young man. I got older and was introduced to Reggie who was a computer whiz. It didn't hurt that he also worked for an alarm company. George, well George had balls of steel. We would slide in and out and no one would get hurt. Most of the time.            The last time I counted, I pulled off twenty-two jobs. On the twenty-third, I found myself in handcuffs. If I succeeded twenty-two out of twenty-three times at the plate for the New York Yankees I’d be a hero. Alas, the Yankees never called and when it comes to banks, one time is all it takes to send you away for a long time.During those years, I was visited by Helton and his men more than once with photo arrays and surveillance footage of holdups. He wanted my advice in exchange for time off my sentence. I don’t know these guys, I would tell him as I watched a bank robbery halfway across the country. Doesn’t matter, he told me. What do you see? How’d they get the alarm code? Is it an inside job?           “You see that one teller at the end? The big boy?”           Helton nodded.           “He’s the only one that didn’t look up when those boys ran in screaming. Watch the tape again. He’s the one.""            “Are you sure?” asked the rookie Helton brought with him that day.           “He’s sure,” Helton answered for me.            There was a lull in the rain, so I used this opportunity to light another cigarette. Out of nowhere a vagrant appeared in my window asking if I had an extra one. In another scenario I might have caused a scene, but not today. My car idled on a side street near the Farnsworth Credit Union, and according to everyone in the can, it was impossible to rob. Vault doors thicker than Fort Knox, and armed ex-military guards. I wasn’t too worried, any lock is only as powerful as the one holding the key.         Sitting in my car I thought about Vicki, who was there for me every step of the way until she wasn’t. I never told her exactly what I did, but she was no fool. She knew I worked construction. She also knew that I would disappear for a few days and stash bills under the floorboards in the attic when I returned.Vicki would come visit me for the first few years, but each visit her eyes looked heavier and the glass between us grew thicker. She ended up getting back together with her high-school sweetheart. I wanted to send some people after him at first, but that thought dissipated before it ever came to fruition. I wanted her to be happy, no one should have to be committed to someone rotting away. I never even called to tell her I got out early. My thumb hovered over her name in my phone, then I tossed it back onto the passenger seat. It’s now or never. I tossed the cigarette out the window, took two deep puffs from an inhaler to soothe the static in my lungs, and tucked a Walther pistol into a newspaper. The door of my Town Car groaned when I stepped out and walked towards Farnsworth Credit Union, using a newspaper to shield my head from the rain that refused to quit.            One of the saddest things to witness is the athlete well past his prime, refusing to walk into the sunset despite a diminishing set of skills. The basketball player whose blown out knees refuse to let him jump. The aging pitcher, whose shoulder is held together with nuts and bolts, giving up moon shots to kids half his age. Perhaps it’s stubbornness. Not wanting to leave the game that has been the focal point of every facet of their lives. Egos cast a shadow over their reality, and fans regard them with tepid sympathy, offering half-hearted praise like they were watching a nursing home patient being able to feed themselves. A horse on their last race, ready to be led behind a barn somewhere and take a bullet behind the ear.            Well, I didn’t take one behind the ear, but I almost did. It was either in my shoulder or somewhere in my chest. I couldn’t really tell initially, but my whole right side was starting to go limp and numb. I didn’t have time to play doctor, my mirrors were swimming with red and blue lights. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but my coughing fit worsened when I pulled onto the interstate. With each convulsion of my lungs and stomach, I misted the windshield with a red spray. The pack of cigarettes on my passenger seat felt a mile away, my right arm was a useless appendage. Hot bolts of pain, worse than the ones in my lungs, shot through my arm when I tried to move it. I left the steering wheel unattended for a moment and grabbed the cigarettes with my left hand. The car jabbed to the right, then steadied once I grabbed the wheel and lit what felt like my last cigarette.            I felt like that aging pitcher, the one standing on the mound with a death grip on the baseball, knowing my manager was about to take it from me and I would walk off the mound forever. A line of reds and blues dotted the foreground. I’m sure it’s not doctor-recommended, but the cigarette smoke gave my lungs something familiar. It lulled them into a false sense of security and stopped my coughing, at least for the moment. Two cops on either side of the highway were ready to throw the spike strip onto the asphalt. My thumb left a bloody print on the name Vicki in my phone.            “Hello?”           “Hey. It’s me.”           “Al?”           “Ya.”           “Are you out?”           “Yes. Have been for a while.”           A lump of silence.           “I heard that. I can hear you smoking. Not even the big casino can make you give it up, huh?”           “I’m quitting right now,” and I actually did toss the butt out the window.            “What is that? Sirens? Are you in trouble?”           “Naw. Must be an accident nearby.”           “You know we shared a bed for many years, right? I know when you’re full of shit.”           “Vicki?”           “I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry that…”           “Al? I’m gonna stop you right there. Ain’t no sense in going down that road. You did what you did and you went where you went. Nothing we can do about it now.”           “Ya. Vicki? You know that I’ve always…”            “Yes, I know. I gotta run. You take care of yourself, okay Al?”           “You too.”           I don’t think I’m going to be enshrined in Cooperstown anytime soon, but at least I understand why those graying sports stars would stay in for one more inning or come back for one more year. My tires were seconds away from becoming shredded rubber, but I was ready to hand the ball over and hit the showers. It was time to hang ‘em up and walk off into that sunset once and for all. 
","August 05, 2023 03:48",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,o41t3r,Unexpected Trip Delays,Sylvia Melvin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o41t3r/,/short-story/o41t3r/,Dramatic,0,['Creative Nonfiction'],7 likes,"
Unexpected Trip Delays
By
Sylvia Melvin
 
The rising sun on Friday, July 21, 2023, illuminated a blue sky with a few puffy summer clouds and a temperature climbing into the low eighties—a perfect day to start the fifteen-hundred-mile trek from Maine back to our home in Florida.
Our destination for the first leg of the trip was Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, an eight-hour drive in ideal conditions. But we didn't make it that far. Now, my husband hates to drive in Connecticut since he’s convinced the term kamikaze originated with that state's drivers, and the Japanese pilots simply stole it. However, he put aside his negativity and trusted the GPS to guide us through a shorter route. Big mistake! I'm convinced there's a little demonic character in that electronic device that enjoys thwarting the best-laid plans of man. Is this a foreshadowing of AI?
Before we knew it, I-95 led us right into the bowels of the Bronx in New York City. Like fire ants milling around a mother lode of picnic crumbs, multiple individuals of varying ages, shapes, and hairstyles occupied every inch of the sidewalks, spilling over into traffic lanes. 
Apparently, in this section of New York, the rules of the road do not apply. Vehicles zig-zagged from one lane to another, cutting in front with no warning. Jay-walking is of no consequence. Folks darted in all directions. Blaring, so-called rap music drowned out any instructions from the GPS. Immediately, the power of prayer became my mantra.
After crossing the George Washington Bridge into calmer
territory, I stopped holding my breath and loosened my hold on the sides of the passenger seat. The padding bounced back into shape, oblivious to the dangers we skirted.
	To get back on track to Pennsylvania, we had to drive across New Jersey, another trial of patience and self-control. A half-hour later, we noticed traffic slowing down to a crawl. Was there an accident up ahead? A flashing sign soon indicated that three travel lanes were reduced to one due to emergency road repairs, and we should be prepared to stop. For nearly two hours, we inched bumper-to-bumper, sandwiched between colossal transport trucks. Of course, those with no patience always decide to pass on the right shoulder and then expect to squeeze into the tightest opening. No wonder road rage is at an all-time high.
	And hey! How about those EVs stranded on the side of the road waiting for someone to come along with a mobile charging station? We figured this traffic jam would be long gone by the time they’d be on the road again. 
After what seemed an eternity, we crossed the Pennsylvania state line. It was eight p.m., and the first hotel we called informed us that no rooms were available since this was the Poconos Nascar Race weekend. By now, tired and hungry, we were desperate to find one. 
	Miraculously, a Hampton Inn loomed into sight and became our refuge. What could possibly go wrong now? However, when we opened the door, the bed covers were rumpled, and it looked 
like a body cocooned in the bedding. A quick trip back to the front desk netted us another room, followed up with an explanation and an apology that the room had missed being cleaned, and to everyone's relief, no body discovered.
	I must admit the view of the Pocono Mountains and the valley below was magnificent. I wanted to capture the scene on my cell's camera the following morning. I went out to our truck to get it, and to my surprise, it was nowhere to be found. My husband searched among our luggage and shopping bags while dialing my number. No response. I dashed to the desk to inquire if somebody turned in a phone. No luck. A search in the parking lot came up negative. By now, panic turned my stomach into a roller coaster until another attempt to dial my number produced a ring loud and clear. The phone had slipped off the console into a narrow space on the driver's side, to our relief. That AI demon must have struck again. Why did we only hear a ring on the last call?
	By now, we had lost an hour traveling to our next destination, but our troubles were not over yet. A third annoyance revealed itself when we stopped for gas in Virginia. Suddenly, a warning message indicated that the front right headlight was out. Having had to replace another one in the past, my husband knew he had to remove the grill, the radiator cover, and the headlight to 
replace a new one. For another hour, the customers that came and went into the Advance Auto store gave us curious looks as the 
front end of our Ram lay on the concrete sidewalk. Much to the credit of the salesman, he offered to help, but the pseudo-
genius engineering made it impossible for more than one pair of hands to fit into the confined space to do the work.
	And then there was Interstate 81. Half of America's semi-tractor trailers seemed to be traveling in our direction. No sooner would we pass one when another came roaring up behind, seemingly vying for the prize awarded to the driver who could pass the competition. This cat–and–mouse game appeared to me to be dangerous. I'm seriously contemplating contacting the Department of Transportation and suggesting they post signs warning drivers that Interstate 81 is not the Indie 500. We picked out several vehicles that quickly qualified.
	We spent the last night of our journey in Bristol, Tennessee, and set out early the following day for Florida. The driving was intense as the traffic coming and going never let up. A five-car accident between Birmingham and Montgomery sent a sobering reminder that traveling on interstate highways these days is not a task for the faint of heart.
	The Florida welcoming sign, ""Florida, The Sunshine State,"" was the best part of our return trip. Maybe next time we'll take the train.
 
 
","August 03, 2023 15:40",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,71zdt1,The Light in Your Eyes,S.N. Beale,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/71zdt1/,/short-story/71zdt1/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Funny', 'LGBTQ+']",7 likes,"
“Flamboyant ClairvoyANT.”""What?""""Lord, I can't repeat myself again. They were a flamboyant clairvoyant by the same name.""""So they could tell you your future. I don't see what's so special-""""No, they could only see into the past to see which one of your ancestors was gay.""""Wait-""""See, there was this baron with a side piece and a gambling debt to said side piece, but there was no proof that said baron - who was separated but still entangled with his wife and grown children – who had kept secrets to his grave – was ever in the ""lurid"" arrangement. At least that's what the family argued when the baron's will made it so all debit went to his family and all his protected assets went to the ""love of his guilt-ridden life Rolf"" as was written by his hand with a witness signature. Now see, the witness couldn't be produced but-""""I’m sorry. What does this have to do with the Flamboyant Clairvoyant? Did they contact the dead baron from the grave to con-““Um, rude.”“…Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”“…As I was saying, no, they told me the story while reading my palms 'cause apparently, they were the reincarnate of Rolf. Also, told us my great-aunt was a lesbian. The look on my mother’s face, AH! I could’ve died. I told that woman it ran in the family. Goofy ass, athletic and clumsy, but mad at me for not choosing a lane, child. She the one can’t run in a straight line but will somersault instead of face plant. I mean, have you ever?”“That…I don’t really know what to do with that.”“Ugh, well, you asked.”“I asked if you knew which way we were going?!”“And I said if I could see ahead, I’d be Flamboyant Clairvoyant!”“What?! You said they couldn’t even look into the future. How-““Imma need you to resolve this obvious internal struggle with yo’self cuz I’m tired, and you missed the turn.”“The Fuc-! Dammit, if you knew!”“Stop yelling. I’m going to take a nap.”Carmen screeched to a halt on the emptied highway that blazed in the sun and reversed to the unmarked turn-off that led them down yet another stretch of dusted road. Carmen was sure the migraine punching behind her right eye was now a permanent consequence of her life choices, or this was the Lake story to break her brain.Snorting to themselves, “The woman named me Lake, I mean. Right? Woman grew up in the desert, never even seen a lake in her life. Couldn’t swim but could dive. Just crazy.”“It's another hundred miles until our next turn. Keep a lookout.” Was the only response Carmen could muster, as Lake threw their seat back with a squeak and a jolt before turning away from Carmen, muttering and scoffing until the sounds morphed into a jagged snore.Carmen and Lake had met 48 hours earlier in the shopping mall parking lot. They’ve changed cars twice within this time and have potentially murdered thirty people and have indeed injured at least fifty. Half were actively after them in their own defense, and the other half were at the buffet line grabbing knives. Who knew a doomsday cult cookout would turn out exactly as advertised. Now, they found themselves on the run toward The Meka to see for themselves what was coming.“What do you think it's going to look like?” Carmen asked, turning to Lake, who was at the wheel now. They would switch whenever night fell since Carmen couldn’t see at night and Lake couldn’t be bothered during the day.“I bet it's some obscure nonsense, you know? Like we’ll all see something different. Why? Whatcha hoping to see? That would be the better question. I’d hope to see my mother. Just to say, ‘I TOLD YOU SO!’ one last time.” Lake said with a chuckle.Carmen quickly became somber and intensely withdrawn.“Well, what the hell just crawled up you and died. Jesus, the AC is broke, but I could feel that chill.” Lake laughed.“Drop it.”“Come on now, don’t ice me out like that after all we’ve been through.”“You don’t know me.”“Bull-shit, I bet I know you better than your own kin at this point. Now, let's not do this sullen act again. It's too long a road, and if I know anything-““Just! Jus-Jus, dammit, leave it. Leave me!” Carmen sputtered, slamming her fist against the door handle before indignantly crossing her arms.“Oh, calm down now.” Lake huffed.“I’m sorry. I’m just…”“You’re just what? Pissed off, angry, scared, lonely, shit, take your pick.” Lake cackled, flourishing their hand out as if to display the options ahead.With a defeated sigh, Carmen glared at the monotonous browns surrounding them, “All of the above.”“Okay. And?”“And what?” Carmen snapped.“Really? You’re gonna make me flat-out ask it? That elephant has flattened our last two cars with the amount of room it's taken. We’ve been driving through nothing to get to nowhere. We came through hell.”“Just shut it! Why are you speaking in metaphors all of a sudden?!”Lake brought their eyes from the road and stared down Carmen, “Really? What happened back there was nothing short of hellish, and what’s happenin’ in front of us is just a beast of a different kind. Now stop beating up me, the car, and yourself, and speak.”Carmen paused, “…I-I did this for her. Too her. She was the one that found them and got so involved. I wasn’t there in the right ways… Then she passed. And they sent that invite. I-I thought it was the answer.”“Umph! Those fools couldn’t answer the telephone.” Lake chortled.“Don’t.”“Listen, we are in the same boat or car, if ya will. I knew you weren’t one of them when I saw you in the parking lot. They twisted up everyone I knew bad. Like they did your wife. But…they weren’t wrong about everything.”The rattle of the mirrors filled the silence that lay over them as they fell into their own memories. Swayed by the damaged road, glittered gravel - illuminated by their headlights - scrapes across the car's sides while the night wind whistled past the unsealed windows. The radio had been silent since yesterday; not even static could be heard, no matter the frequency. So, Carmen and Lake had been left to engage or individually die of boredom and anxiety. Although more than once, each had sworn to never speak to the other. But time would pass, and one of them would wonder aloud.“How’d you get involved in all this?” Carmen yawns and stretches while musing at Lake’s private party after waking from a deep thought to see dawn rising in the distance. The seat groans upright as Carmen smirks at the sight of Lake dancing to a techno tune that they hummed and beatboxed to themselves. The sound of the chair made Lake jump, “Oh shit! When did you get up? Scared the hell out of me. We’re gonna need to switch soon. I was teleported back to the rave, where I lost my favorite pet after the barn burned down. Should’ve known fluffies and pyrotechnics weren’t the best idea, but when your old overstuff unicorn from childhood visits you in an LSD dream and says ‘RAGE!’, you listen.”“I don’t –“ Carmen, thoroughly confused, was still too tired to follow the thread noticing that Lake suddenly became uncharacteristically sullen.“It came to me in a dream. And I’ve never been good with shutting up…now look where we are.” Lake seems to muse to themselves.“I don’t understand.”“Would you say you can’t see it?” Lake snorts sarcastically.“What’s wrong with you?”“You know, when I was little, I had this dream that my uncle fell down the stairs. And every night for what seemed like weeks, I had this same dream, wake up and spend the day gasping, terrified whenever my uncle got close to the stairs. See, he worked nights and stayed in the basement. So when we were eatin’ breakfast, it would be his dinner, so he’d come up to eat then back down to sleep.”Carmen was about to interrupt, but Lake’s eyes were so far off in the distance. Carmen decided to stay silent while Lake continued.“I remember he asked me why I looked so wild-eyed one morning. He used to call me his ‘water bug,’ and I can remember…” Lake seemed to straighten up, taking on a different demeanor, mimicking her uncle for a moment, “he said, ‘N-Now, why is my watabug lookin’ so wild?’ an’ I just burst into tears and told them about my dreams. My mother beat me for that, of course, but that night I swear I just couldn’t take it. I had to do something. So I snuck down and slept at the top of those stairs and swore I’d protect him. No uncle of mine is going tumbling…” Lake paused for a long moment and shook their head as they started to pull off to the side and put the car in park.“Lake?” Carmen whispered.“We create our own fates. Did you know that?” Lake turning to Carmen for the first time, their eyes glossed over, “If I’ve learned anything in all this, it's that.”“Let’s just switch, okay? We’ve got our last can of beans-““My uncle came home early that morning. It was still dark out, but it was a straight shot from the front door to the basement in the kitchen, so he’d walk right through in that darkness. Do you know what a steel toe boot does to a child’s ribs? You’d think a fall like that would shake the whole house. It felt like it would shake the whole damn world. But when he tripped, he kinda flew, you know.”Lake’s face made a painful grimace that resembled a smirk.“Missed the tumbling part, so I guess I kept my word. But he just flew and thudded. ‘THU-dded,’ is that a word? Anyways…I didn’t have it in me to look down those stairs. I-I just went back up to my bed; pretended it was another bad dream. It was my aunt’s screams that shook those walls. I still remember the pain in my sides when I fell out that bed.”“Jesus Lake…I’m so sor-““They thought I had the eye after that, and it made me fragile. How else could I’ve broken three ribs by falling out of bed? I never felt so loved. They all felt so bad for not believing me… Idiots, the lot of them.”“How could you say that? Wait…” Carmen’s stomach sank so low she felt her toes might explode from the pressure.“Now, you see, don’t you.”“I-““I just needed a way out. The end is always near; it's around every corner. Funny enough, my aunt and uncle were never legally married, and it turned out my uncle never had a night job, just another family. His military buddy was actually his husband, and they had adopted children together and lived a quiet life just outta town. I found out later he came back early because he was leaving for good this time; he wanted to wake up to his husband and children. Can’t fault a man for that.”Carmen was at a complete loss for words as the car idled on the side of the steaming highway, the cloudless purple sky giving way to a grayish-blue hue as the sun rose from the east.“They ended up arresting my aunt since his husband paid for a private investigation. They thought he been pushed on account of how he flew…That’s how my mother and I found Flamboyant Clairvoyant to ask about her brother. You meet people on the circuit, you know.”“Lake, stop. I’m-I’m so confused right now. I-what are you trying to tell me?” Carmen felt she was going blind.“I guess my mother didn’t want to be poor anymore, and I just… I just wanted to be seen. I’m so terribly sorry about your wife, Carmen. Jack was a good woman. Loyal.”“…I-I never told you my wife’s name Lake. Even when you asked me, I told you to leave it alone. I told you I couldn’t- I couldn’t say her name.” Carmen felt like she couldn’t breathe.“Jack told me all about you. She-she really, I don’t know how to put it, but I’ve never seen an expression of love that pure before. Jack loves you, Carmen, even in death. Even at this moment, that shit lingers. I feel like it's been tattooed on my skin. That’s how deeply she spoke every word about you. We would sit for hours, and she’d paint my being with you. So, when I saw you in the parking lot before the cookout and found out those idiots sent out paper invites from my private address book. I-I honestly didn’t know what to do. I thought everyone knew not to drink the juice at a cult cookout, so I poisoned the buffet.”The thrum of the engine stood between them as Carmen gaped into the wide-set eyes of Lake before slowly reaching over to turn off the car. Her eyes move down to the key in her hand as she slumps back into her seat. The sounds of their heartbeats fill the quiet air.Lake gulps, “There was a boy named Meka that lived down the street. He told me what his name meant the first time I met him. Do you know what he said?”
","August 03, 2023 18:54",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,qfoj42,Tijuana at Five,H.e. Ross,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qfoj42/,/short-story/qfoj42/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'African American', 'Fiction']",7 likes,"
Words woke me and I looked up through the smell of car mustiness and petrol to a smiling moustache on a strange face. I was still curled in the darkness of the backseat and didn’t know if it had been on a long drive or if we had arrived in Mexico. I didn’t know if I was awake but I did know that we were sitting still now with the engine still vibrating. The moustache man wore dark glasses under a slouchy light brown military kind of hat with a shiny bill. I saw brown skin and a smile but he was just a blur with a background of glaring lights against a pale wall. The words were drunkenly slurred with head shakes and americano a lot of times. The moustache man started shaking his head with his hand outstretched to Heppy in the front passenger seat of the car. He had stopped smiling, then started saying go go, while gesturing with a waved hand for us to move along.
 
There was a bad smell but I closed my eyes as the car started driving again. I thought to myself that we must be in Mexico. The car bumped over the road, rocking me into comforting thoughts of Big Mama and I fell back into brown darkness with red blurs passing through my closed eyelids.
 
A scream jerked my eyes open and through the window I saw the strained muscles of a white horse’s curved neck. There were black reins pulled tight that lead back back to a high horned saddle. A man sat in the saddle in tight trousers, an open short jacket and a wide sombrero with a chin strap, and he screamed out again to the sky. The horse rose up pawing its hoofs in the air. The man fiddled with his side, pulled back his jacket and pulled out a silver gun from a cream coloured holster to shoot three loud pops into the sky, The shots echoed in my ears but I could hear Jesse and Heppy in the front seat saying, shit a couple of times. Next to me, my mother and Aunt Ruby grabbed each other for protection. I put my nose to the window. Behind the man on the horse and his open mouth was a stark white church steeple spotlighted against a black sky. My mother tried to pull me back from the window but I shook her off. This was something.
 
Then I took in the soft guitars and a marimba that smoothly allowed singers to croon and I still remember the blended smells of charcoal, corn tortillas and horse-shit tobacco while glaring bulbs of white and colours hung in a sad gayness from thick black cords. My head had twisted around the car to hear, see, smell all around us. I sat up better to see more. 
 
The gun went off again twice as I watched people slowly walking in all directions, going into places, the church, some buildings across the street, some waving at us. The man on the horse reared up in front of the church again and deeply tolling bells sounded lovely with the music that was played on the street. The street was cobbled and rutted with a dull gloss that reflected lights in what must have been mud. Saddled horses stood down-headed waiting for something. They were tied to posts that held up buildings.
 
Jesse drove slowly forward with people in the headlights laughing, talking, solemn, gesturing, eating from things in their hands, drinking from bottles in their hands. Noise was all about us as we moved slowly forward in Jesse’s old Chevy. Hands beat on the hood by smiling, sometimes laughing men. Women in self-made shadows of shawls moved more intentionally. Other women waved with calls and with breasts pushed up in low cut blouses. Their long dark hair framed dark lips and big elliptical eyes emblazoned by dark make up. A long stretch of women dressed like that with big smiles and nodding heads passed us as we moved forward in jerks as Jesse and Heppy mumbled in the front seat. My mother said something that I couldn’t hear and they all laughed.
 
Then all was dark again along this street, except where people were gathered inside places and naked lights played at happinesses. The smells of grilling meats and corn tortillas at outside stands made me so hungry I turned to ask my mother if we were going to eat. She said something to me but there was a sudden burst of horn with guitar music and singing letting out passion that caught my attention and I turned to see a group of men with guitars dressed like the guy on the horse approaching us. My mother slapped my head and asked if I was listening to her. I didn’t know what to say to her so I just sat there while the music strummed and the singing went on outside my window.
 
My mother told Heppy to do something about the musicians and he got out of the car and gave them a couple of dollars and waved them off but they played louder until he gave them a couple more dollars, then they left but kept playing and singing. This was something.
 
Heppy told Jesse something that I didn’t hear because I was paying attention to the music, but they all laughed as I smelled whiskey and peppermint gum and the mustiness with and petrol gas of the Ford. Jesse pulled over a bit more and parked. Heppy, my step father, opened my door to point at a dog with three legs dying in a mud gutter in the glare of red and yellow lights. His blood was still flowing. They all laughed at my revulsion, pulling me into a restaurant on the other side of the dog that I stepped over with his eyes looking elsewhere.
 
The restaurant smells made me hungry and I forgot about the dog in the street. It was bright. There were calendars with paintings of women with low cut blouses raising rifles in the air or holding wounded men with cactus in the background hanging on the walls. Everybody in the paintings had sombreros on and it looked like hot weather.
 
We sat at a table with a dirty table cloth and a waiter came and took orders. He came back smiling and brought us a heaping of tortilla chips in a woven basket, some plates, napkins and utensils. Heppy scooped a chip into a little earthenware bowl with a green sauce and offered it to me. I put the whole thing in my mouth because I had started thinking of the dog again and it burned my tongue and throat, and I vomited on the floor. My mother slapped my head as the waiter rushed over. Heppy rushed me outside to let me vomit in the street next to the three legged dog. When I finished, checking to see that I hadn’t thrown up on the dog, Heppy said he was sorry about the hot sauce.
 
I knew then that I would live in Mexico when I grew up.
","July 29, 2023 10:32",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,iv743o,Leaving Paradise,Kevin Elias Kaye,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/iv743o/,/short-story/iv743o/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],7 likes,"
 
	Bobby had no memories of leaving Paradise. He had only just taken his first steps when they left, but to hear his mother tell the story of their exodus he had been tramping around the pine needle blanket in the front yard just waiting for his dad to notice.
	“Your father,” she told him, “didn’t even have a car seat in the truck for you. So I put you in a box with blankets and slid you on the little jumpseat behind Jack. Jack always sat in the passenger seat like your dad had trained him. That dog went everywhere with him, and he abandoned him, too.”
	He imagined his mother driving and could almost see her glancing at him in the rearview mirror, her eyes pinched and provocative. The little mole, coquettishly lazed at the corner of her mouth until it disappeared in the deep creases of her broad smile. Of course, Bobby could only imagine this because he did not have the memory. He had something else instead, a feeling, maybe, or an impression, perhaps. There it was, behind the glass of his mind, long since annealed to the opposite and untouchable surface of being and made into a mirror so that his memories were really just a reflection of his mother’s. And in this way, his feelings and his impressions were hers as well.
	Not shared, though. Not entirely
	“No, your father couldn’t be bothered to get a car seat for you, much less trade in that damned truck for something the other fathers drove.”
	Bobby had no memories of the hours-long journey he and his mother and the faithful terrier Jack made, but he could not be convinced that he didn’t have any either. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her reach back behind the seat and brush her fingers through his hair the way a farmer’s daughter dragged her hand through a row of short grain in midsummer. He could see the pinpoints of perspiration perforate her forehead, starting just below the widow’s peak that escaped the bandana with which she kept her hair back.
	They left Paradise and most of what they owned after breakfast. Bobby’s father had not come back from work the night before, and his mom was up all night going through the house looking for some things and finding others, putting some of the stuff in boxes and others in the inexpensive luggage they used on trips. Some boxes went in the truck like her husband had instructed her, and the luggage and other boxes went in her car.
	“This is the time to be sentimental.” Bobby’s father had implored her. “Get the stuff we can’t replace. The paperwork and the deeds and the licenses and jewelry and pictures. Like I said, if you feel sentimental about it, take it. We can replace everything else.”
	She filled the back of his truck hastily because she had to, and even then she was loading and unloading the mismatched packages and suitcases to make a little more room when she could. When she had it all measured and had unlocked more room than a measuring tape would have found she ran the thick tarp they took camping over the inventory of years of dating, two tours, a marriage and now Bobby. Then she took a thick cord and tied it all down with clean, strong know-how that she dispensed with a minimum of knots.  
	Her wedding dress and the Marine uniform he married her in were tucked into her car with wedding gifts, many of which were still boxed. These things filled her passenger seat and crowded around the car seat. They stayed in Paradise when Bobby’s mom put him in one last box and slid him behind her seat, snug. 
	“Your father’s gonna come and get all that.” She told the boy. “Let’s go on a trip, me and you.”
	Then she whistled at Jack to get in the car. The dog jumped into the bed of the truck only to find it full and covered with the tarp. Surprised, Jack stepped between the cords before shimmying through the open window behind the seats and taking his place in the passenger seat, panting. Driving away, Bobby’s mom could see Jack’s footprints in the thick accumulation of ash that had already settled. 
	Bobby could never remember the terrible traffic of that day. They did not get very far before they could not get anywhere at all. Along Neal Road, the traffic slowed and thickened like burnt sugar taken off the flame. The two lane road was clogged and jumbled with fear and grief and cars overheating. Bobby’s mom listened to the drone of the traffic information station crawl through the speaker, urging calm instead of suggesting alternative routes or ways to share cars. Occasionally, someone would get inspired and drive on the opposite side of the road and a chorus of honks and a few scattered cheers would erupt from the other cars. A few minutes later a police car or fire engine would scream from that direction and chide the good, terrified citizens.
	“No southbound traffic in this lane!” They yelled, their voices loud and uneven, blaring as if spoken through large brass instruments. 
	Bobby can remember the color of trees out the window. The pine needles lashing against heated winds and filtering the sunlight into white lines that the acrid miasma curled through. And he can see his mother’s hands, threaded with cables of taut muscle that gripped the wheel. They crawled along the road in an inexorable line of frantic waiting while the fire behind them slowly darkened the sky and skipped and jumped between the trees and meadows all the while cackling, crackling.   
	This was more than leaving. This was throwing the sands of time spent into the kiln, and Bobby would have to wait for all these uncountable pieces to come together and to cool. Most of what he had once had would reappear, vague in composition and others would remain forever shards of unknowable provenance. He could polish some smooth and see what they reflected, perhaps. The little pieces would be gone forever. He could not have explained to anyone else the strong smell of fire, but some time later it would present itself; suddenly, there it would be: the smell of someone burning leaves in the fall, but menacing and inescapable. The smell of twelve hours of sweat in a truck was not sour or foul, but full of love and fear in unequal shifting proportions.
 
	*	*	*
 
	“You never cried,” Bobby’smother told him. “Not once. You stayed in that little box behind the seat and never cried.”
	“I don’t believe you.” Bobby would argue.
	“You were my angel. You and Jack.”
	He remembered then, straining, confusing then for now. Was this her recollection or his own, and if it was his then how? She lifted the clumps of sweaty, matted hair as he fell asleep in the little box in the seat behind Jack, the air conditioner humming loudly moved the ripe air wet with heat and loss. Before he falls asleep he looks at his mother. Her dark hair is uncoiling itself from the bandana. Long wavy stresses of hair so dark it might swallow the light are unfurling and they soak up the heat.
	Her eyes are on the road now. Things are moving, and her eyes narrow. There are overheated cars on the shoulder. The road wended along ridges toward the valley which overlooked tragic coulees where the chaparral chokes a cluster of oaks that are leaning incongruously against the shadows they cast.
	“We’re almost there, baby.”
	Behind them now was the crackle of embers that had been Paradise. Distance had thrown some water on the flames but the malignant heat was in the ground now and inextricable. The great hot maw turned all that was into thick secretions of smoke, and what had not been consumed in full sat in clumps and was left to smolder. Columns of smoke fanned out, guided westward by the sun and set their course for the ocean where the roar of waves and hiss of mists awaited.
	His mother scanned the radio dial for bits of news and information, and Bobby remembers that, but what he remembers most was the feeling of a song she paused on. A song plays and his mother cries, her hands close to each other atop the steering wheel and she makes as though she will lean her head on them and give up. Bobby coos.
	“You like that song?” Bobby’s mother asks, regarding him in the little box, cast out of Paradise by nothing of his own accord.
	Bobby cannot remember the song or the tune and neither can she. For both the music of that moment diminishes if either dares to approach. There it is, a chord floating in the ether or a timbre of someone’s voice, but just for a minute. Bobby knows that one day he’ll ask his mother to look at that memory behind his side of the untouchable glass.
	“I remember that,” she’ll tell him. “Yes, here it is.”
	Holding up her own memory to his, each reflecting the other, smaller and smaller until unknowable, what happened to who and what it had even been. 
 
","August 04, 2023 06:32",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,tmqavf,The Trip,Michael Hellwig,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tmqavf/,/short-story/tmqavf/,Dramatic,0,"['American', 'Happy', 'Inspirational']",6 likes,"
The Trip
 
We agreed to drive back to Washington D.C. together from Oceanside C.A. Two broke privates with 30 days leave on the books to burn. The crazy part was, we thought we’d be saving money by driving on this trip. But when you considered it was 4 days each way. With the price tag of $200 for gas each go. We’d probably have been better off flying. But we were 2 young and dumb military lads, both believing this was the right move. 
We hit the I-10 heading east at approximately 8pm on a Thursday night. Starting our leave and beginning a road trip that would last for at least 37 ½ hours if we pushed it. I planned to drive through the night. Figuring we could knock out the initial 12 hours that night, putting a huge dent in the overall trip. Lance Corporal Alejandro was my companion. Which was cool as we were platoon mates. We both had been surprised that our unit had granted the two of us leave at the same time. Which prompted us to agree to ride back together. Being that he was from Langley Park, MD, which was just outside of Washington D.C...  And I resided in Silver Spring, MD, which was just a hop, skip, and jump from Langley Park, MD. It made perfect sense to make the trek together.  
“This state is huge”! “Beautiful and endless, but vast”, I exclaimed. Realizing that we wouldn’t hit Arizona for hours. The crazy part was, we saw snow in the rearview mirror as we made our way north. Stepping on the gas to outrun the storm. Which was news to me as I only knew about the sun and fun of California. “Hey devil-dog, what do you have planned for your vacation”? I asked Alejandro. Who was as new to the west coast as I was.   
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to relax and be myself. Especially being around all that testosterone and constantly having to prove myself. So, I think I’ll just drink some beer and chill out for the first couple of days. Looking to get re-acquainted with friends and family. Once I’m back on track and fully rested. I plan to take my girl out for a night “on” the town. If she’ll still have me. Because with our training schedule, it’s been next to impossible to keep our relationship going. But she’s a hottie! So much so, I can’t seem to end it. However, I’m also not ready to get married. Which is the only way the military is going to accept us as a couple. And while she hasn’t said anything yet, I know it’s coming”, Alejandro confided in me. We continued filling up the car with laughter and uncertainty as we drove. “Do you mind”, Alejandro asked. Holding up a vape container in one hand and his cellphone in the other. 
 “Not at all” I replied. As the vaping smoke wouldn’t bother me. And I was more than happy to let him play DJ for a while. It’s funny, when you get to Marine combat training after bootcamp. Approximately 15% of the platoon smokes cigarettes. But by the end of the month, 90% of the platoon is smoking. It truly is a lesson in monkey see, monkey do.  As it was my first introduction to the peer pressures of a group dynamic. Now I must admit. When you’re out in the field trying to hold on to your last MRE. A cigarette or a cigar will buy you a couple of hours of relief from the hunger pains.    
We entered Arizona in the wee hours of the morning. Which was a positive sign as it signified, we were “making” good time. Alejando, for his part, had been a good choice as a wingman. Because he was willing and able to talk about a host of issues keeping my attention. Which was interesting, as I thought I knew him. But this trip gave me new insight into his soul on a scale I’d never seen before. The beauty of the military is that in bootcamp and the training which follows. One gets to experience the highs and lows of military life. While seeing the best and worst of those around you. Meaning, you don’t have to fill in the blanks as to who are the different personalities in your platoon. Because by that time everyone had become an open book. Which subconsciously makes you like a family. Negating any reason to act tough or put on a certain air.   Because the whole platoon has seen each other fight, run, shoot, and perform all sorts of tasks. In other words, the cat was let out of the bag a long time ago. Shining a light on how everyone is truly wired.
I couldn’t get Pearl Jam’s Yellow Ledbetter out of my head as I pumped the gas. For some reason its harmonic cadence took me to another place entirely. In a way which was perfect for this road trip. Scanning the area, we were now deep inside Arizona. Which looked like one great big desert. We had been up this way in training before. But it had been only briefly, for about a week. And it all looked different now in the dark. Shivering profusely, the radio DJ mentioned how the temperature had dropped significantly. Registering a 110-degrees during the daytime hours. Only to fall to under 60-degrees that night. “How do people live like this”? I thought to myself.   
Just then, Alejandro returned to the vehicle with 2 chilidogs in hand. One for each of us. But I wasn’t hungry and politely refused. Besides, the last thing I needed to deal with was an upset stomach due to gas station food. Though Alejandro didn’t seem to mind. Wolfing-down the first one before beginning on the second. “Damn, you’re eating like we’re still in bootcamp”, I responded. As we both burst into laughter recalling those days. “Do you remember when our unit was up here pulling targets for the pilots”, I asked him. “We went out one night and they only had one club in the whole town for everybody. All the heavy metal people were huddled in one corner. Country music fans in another. And the Rap and R&B crew took up a third. The DJ would play a song catering to one specific group. Only to switch it up when the music finished, satisfying each genre”, I remembered fondly. “I almost forgot about that”, Alejondro laughed, semi choking on his hotdog.   
“So, what do you think of the military so far”? I followed up. Making our way back onto the highway. “Well personally, I joined the Corps to see the world. And no matter if it’s going on leave or traveling with the unit. I’m happy just being out and about. Because before signing up for the Marines. I had only been to Washington D.C. and Maryland. But now, within the first year of my military service. I’ve been to both North and South Carolina. And traveled all over the country, spanning numerous places. And I hear our unit is slated to head overseas later this year. So, I’m as happy as a lark, as I got my wish”, Alejandro responded.  
We drove through Arizona and then into New Mexico. Chatting and singing songs from Alejandro’s playlist. Next up was Oklahoma, where we grabbed some coffee from a drive through. Before continuing onto Arkansas. By the time we made it to Memphis, Tennessee. We decided to stop and refresh. Which proved to be a hoot, as Beale Street was jumping, and the ladies were flirting. I was still under 21 years of age and not much of a drinker. So, the alcohol offered in the local clubs held little attraction to me. But Alejandro was 21 years of age and loved to drink. Which explained why we got sidetracked as he made the most of the experience. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for me, he’d have probably ended up married or worse. Because Alejandro was a hit with the ladies. But the local hucksters appeared to want to “roll” that inebriated out-of-towner. Causing me to eventually pull him out of the partying so we could get back on the road. And it didn’t take long before he passed-out next to me after I got him in the vehicle. On another note, I probably still have some enemies in Memphis, as the ladies were begging me to let him stay. Because that character was buying people drinks and dancing with every single skirt available. But we had to go, as Nashville, Tennessee, awaited us.
Upon nearing Nashville, I began to feel fatigued. Fighting droopy eyes and the inclination to dose off. Shifting in my seat, I adjusted the car’s air conditioning system to try and get a jolt. Before realizing, “Hell, that’s not the answer”. I then navigated through the radio stations hoping to find something that would catch my fancy. But finding nothing. Alejandro’s phone was still linked to the car’s system Therefore, it was the radio or nothing. Eventually I turned everything off completely. Deciding to ride in silence. Which meant it was just me and the road until Nashville, Tennessee. And it wasn’t long before my eyelids grew heavy and began to close. Suddenly, I was jolted back to reality. As a full-size Mac-truck going in the opposite direction came barreling across the medium strip, directly towards me. It must have been traveling at approximately 70 miles per hour. And the way things were looking, I had seconds to implement a reaction strategy. Funnily enough, I remember experiencing a peaceful calm taking over my body. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t nervous, just cognizant of everything taking place occurring in slow motion. A split second away from jerking my car to the left. The truck veered right, suddenly recrossing the wide grassy medium strip again. Almost as if the trucker had dozed off to sleep and suddenly awoke to realize his error. “Wow, that could have been ugly”, I thought to myself.  Glancing at my sidekick, who was still sound asleep and clueless to the ongoings. My emotions ventured all over the place as I continued to drive. Just happy to be alive. While white knuckling the steering wheel as I went. The more time that elapsed between the incident and the current moment. The more my heartbeat increased. Which was interesting. As I literally got more fearful the further, I got away from the incident. Now nearing the outskirts of Nashville, TN. I decided it was as good a time as any to take a break. Pulling into a rather shabby looking diner to gas up, freshen up, and wake up. Before exiting the vehicle, I attempted to jostle Alejandro. First physically and then verbally. But he was in a deep slumber from the “liquid courage”.  I figured it was probably best just to let him be. So, I cracked the windows after parking in a very visible location.    
Entering the café, I grabbed a booth next to the window so I could keep an eye on Alejandro and my vehicle. That way, if he did wake up or get out of the car disoriented. I could quickly respond and guide him inside. 
“Hey honey, what can I get you”? A perky heavy-set waitress asked me, arriving at the table and pouring me a cup of coffee. Which was piping hot as the steam cascaded upwards along with the delicious smell. Handing me a menu the waitress scurried off promising to be back. And when she did return, I ordered the big country breakfast. As it was almost 3am and time for breakfast anyway. “Damn, I love her southern drawl”, I thought to myself. Acknowledging that her accent alone was worth the cost of the meal.
Periodically looking outside to scan the parking lot. I kept my eyes peeled for Alejandro. Even though I thought the chance of him waking up soon was slim. When the food arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at how appealing it looked. “Wow, that’s a lot of goodness”, I said smiling at the waitress. There was no way I would be able to finish this in one sitting. Therefore, my worry shifted to whether all this food was going to make me sleepy. After all it was “southern comfort” food. And we all knew how crippling that could be. The plate was loaded with scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, hash browns, pancakes, and buttered toast. While it all looked tasty, I ate carefully so as not to stuff myself. All the while sipping coffee to wash everything down with. 
By 4am we were back on the road. And Alejandro was still asleep. When he did finally come to it was close to 8am in the morning. And he appeared to be significantly hung over. “You hungry”? I inquired. As Alejandro stretched, and “came-to” slowly. “Let’s get some breakfast in you from McDonalds. As well as some much-needed water. Which will also give me a chance to stretch and walk a bit”, I interjected. “Sounds like a plan to me”, Alejandro responded. 
McDonald’s was just a few exits down the highway, so we’d be there momentarily. I was tired, having seriously underestimated the wear and tear on my body of this trip. And we went through the drive thru when we arrived. I left Alejandro in the vehicle as I got out to walk around. Taking in the scenery, as dogwalkers sauntered by. They were totally oblivious to each other unless their animals showed interest in one and other. 
“So, what do you think of the Corps”? Alejando asked when I returned. “You know, I was a pretty good athlete in school. Which I thought would prepare me for boot camp. But when I got down to Parris Island. The Marine Corps totally “kicked my butt”. Not because the training was so tough. But because I had never been physically challenged before beyond my breaking point. When you train yourself physically, there are no surprises. But when you do it in someone else’s time frame. Well, the ambiguity of not knowing proves brutal. And I quickly learned that Marine Corps bootcamp was not the place to find out what you’re made of physically. Nevertheless, it was a real-life lesson for me. And if there was one positive to take away from the experience. It was that while being only 18 years of age. I was able to harness the grit and determination to claw my way through it. All the while, learning to stand on my own 2 feet”, I responded. 
“Give me a funny story”? Alejandro followed up. 
“I can do that”, I replied. “So, we just finished Marine combat training and I haven’t been paid since boot camp. There is no such thing as direct deposit yet. Therefore, I realistically won’t see any new money until I get to my permanent duty station. Which to me was unacceptable, as I needed a paycheck. But to the Marine Corps it was business as usual. Because they had warned us all that this would probably happen. And to spend our money frugally as we didn’t know when we’d be paid again. Now, for those married Marines whose families were back home hurting. There was a special program available. They simply needed to sign a list requesting a meeting with the commanding officer. Who would instruct the financial office to cut them a separate check for their families. Well, don’t ask me what I was thinking. But for some reason I added my name to the list. And after waiting in the headquarters for what seemed like forever. I was finally called into the office. Rendering the proper salutation as I approached. The commanding officer didn’t even look up from his paperwork to witness this greeting. Gruffly, responding, “what”? I immediately launched into what I deemed as a heartfelt sob story. Highlighting how I needed money for this and that, before he stopped me mid-sentence. He then looked up to make eye contact with me. Inquiring as to whether I had a meal card for the “chow hall”? “Yes, sir”, I replied. He then asked if I had received a full uniform issue upon graduating boot camp. Again, I answered with a resounding, “yes sir”. And lastly, he questioned whether I was living in the barracks. To which I again answered, “yes sir”. Then as if on cue, he leapt up from his seat grabbing a paperweight off his desk. Before hurling it at the wall on his left. Yelling, “well then you got no problems, get the hell out of my office”! Scrambling for my life I didn’t even render the proper exit salutation. 
Alejandro was in tears laughing next to me when I finished up the story. “That’s awesome”, he chimed in. “The funny thing is, whenever life gets hard. I revisit that moment remembering those words”, I followed up. Highlighting how the experience has stayed with me and allowed me to forge ahead in times of angst.     
“Let’s cross into Virginia”, I exclaimed. Starting the vehicle up before reentering the highway. The rest of the trip was uneventful. And the only question left was if Alejandro was driving back with me or flying at the end of the month. 
In a nutshell, this trip has taught me that the journey is usually worth it. Because this type of education is invaluable. As you’ll learn as much about yourself as you will about others. Elevating one’s understanding of humanity and the dynamics of life in general. 
","August 04, 2023 16:30",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ho3jx2,Half the Size of God,Abaddon Trent,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ho3jx2/,/short-story/ho3jx2/,Dramatic,0,['Drama'],6 likes,"
	Jake turned away from his mother’s current one-sided shouting match with the driver in front of them. He looked out the window as the phone towers ran past them. ‘Probably to get away from her screaming. Would that I could be so lucky. Too bad they are all chained together or they could escape more easily’
	“-maybe you should pray to God for some driving lessons! It’s a miracle that you managed to find the keyhole you moron!”
 
	Jake turned to look at his mother’s face. Her lips were compressed in anger. He decided to speak. “Maybe they are having an emergency. Like having to rush to the hospital.” She kept her eyes straight ahead. Her tone was as gritty as the road, “Then why wouldn’t they call an ambulance?” Jake replied tentatively, “Would you be able to afford an ambulance?” She was silent now. He couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or if she was thinking what he said through. He hoped that she was experiencing a rare moment of self-reflection.
 
	Her thumbs flexed as she still gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. The passing fields made a less stressful preoccupation than that, so he turned away again. ‘See, this is why I don’t want to drive. It makes them both so angry.’ He couldn’t bear the starchy silence any longer, “How much longer do you think it will be?”.
	She flicked her head to his side of the car, “Check the map.” Jake reached by his feet to grab the atlas that was trapped by crossword books and snacks. He leafed through the spiral bound tomb until he came to the familiar highlighted pages. He traced his finger from their last stopping point a little way and held it there as he looked up for a sign to tell him where in this hell-hole they were. There was nothing but fields, telephone towers, and endless road in sight.
 
	Jake looked back down. His finger moved across the map but the path wasn’t making any sense. Until he saw that he had made the grave error of a misdirected turn. He felt a surge of adrenaline bore up his spine and spider-web through his head as his eyes grew wide with a sharp sense of terror. ‘Oh, she’s not going to be happy about this.’ He didn’t want to ask, he hoped that he was wrong about being wrong. He dared to risk the question, “Do you know where we are? Which road we are on?” She was annoyed as she said, “35 North. Still.” He froze, and kept quiet as he tried to calm down. Deep, silent breaths. He gave her the right directions. They were still on course. 
	The shards of anxiety slowly melted from his mind. He kept his eyes glued to his finger tip, unseeing, as he heard his mom’s voice. “So? Are we on track?”
 
	“Yep.” Jake put the map back in its resting place and decided against asking the time related question again. If the question caused confusion or started a fight, he’s not sure he could handle it after that scare. 
 
	‘It won’t be long now. Just have to make it until tomorrow morning at the latest.’ 
 
	‘I might as well take a nap; it will help pass the time.’ He brought his knees up to his seat-belted torso and rested his head on the window. He hated how it made his teeth chatter as he closed his eyes and tried to de-stress. The hum of the road was annoying but the seat vibrations were soothing. Time was passing with human silence until his mother pressed a radio console button to continue the cd story that was stopped during the previous driver confrontation. Something about a woman named Charity and a man named Selfish. Jake had heard it many times before on these trips. It was easy to fall asleep to. It was finally peaceful. He could relax.
	In his dream he opened his eyes and looked into the distance of the fields. There was a large older man there. Bigger than any skyscraper. Jake’s dream knowledge knew that it was God. It’s eyes scrutinized Jake. It reached behind itself and pulled out a rifle and aimed it at the car. Jake thought he could feel his heart beating faster. He felt panic as God raised the rifle to its eye and pulled the trigger. A teeny figure came from the far-off barrel. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it grew closer and became larger until it was half the size of God and was running right for him. 
 
	It was Jake’s mother. And the imitation was approaching fast. It ran as though the car were a forest boar and hadn’t eaten in days. Its brows were furrowed, its face twisted. It screeched as it chased the car. It stumbled as it rounded the back of the vehicle. Jake turned to warn his driving mother but when he turned his head his face was next to the driver’s side window and watched the monster clamoring and clawing its way to where he sat. He looked down at his hands which were on the wheel. He tried to steer but the car would not let him. It was out of control. He turned his head to see the beast chasing him up the length of the swerving car until it was running right next to him and looking directly at him, so focused and intense. She looked manic.
 
	Jakes hands were glued to the steering wheel. He couldn’t move as she punched through the glass and latched on to his wrist. As they wrestled for control, the car became even more out of control, jerking across the road. Jake felt terrified and weak up against this rampaging visage on its warpath. The car was tipping over more with each jerk until it was falling over. They were crashing. 
	He turned from her onslaught to focus on the road. God was Standing there, as big as before. As they thrashed towards it, it transformed from a much older man into a huge Jake. Time slowed down as the giant spoke: 
 
“See, my servant will act wisely; 
he will be raised and lifted up and highly exalted.” 
	Jake’s adrenaline was flooding his body as the car crashed into the road and rolled. He couldn’t scream. 
 
	His eyes opened. He was in his usual spot of the passenger seat. His mother was still driving. The familiar story form the CD continued on. He knew that his mom saw him look at her. But did not acknowledge it. Did she see him look at her? He didn’t care. He was just glad that he did not mumble or scream, which would cause questions. He could pretend that it never happened. He could pretend that everything was normal. 
 
	“-kings will shut their mouths beca- beca- beca-.” Oh no. Here it comes. The radio has skipped before. The mother spoke, “work in Jesus’ name.” The radio replied,”beca- se- se- se-.”
 
	Her voice grew loud again “I command you to work! I plead the blood of Jesus on this radio. Talk to it Jake, tell it to work. Command it.” Jake put his hand on the radio, like he was taught to and echoed the same words his mother shouted. 
 
	He tenses as he hears his mother. “You will respect me, as a child of God I command you!” The radio was too afraid to defy his mother for long. Jake wondered if it only started working again to get her to stop screaming at it. Jake leaned his head against the window. There was peace once more. For now, at least. 
","August 04, 2023 20:15","[[{'Kate Abbasi': ""As I read the story, I empathized with Jake's emotions of fear, frustration, and exhaustion. However, it is unclear who is driving the car and why Jake's mother is angry. Improving the clarity of the dialogue could enhance the story's impact. In general, the story feels disorganized as it jumps from one idea to another without a proper transition."", 'time': '00:22 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Abaddon Trent': ""Thank you for the constructive criticism. I will work on clarity and transitions. \n\nIf Jake doesn't know why his mother is angry but just seems angry, then would it still be beneficial to show the audience that in the story anyway?"", 'time': '11:35 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Abaddon Trent': ""Thank you for the constructive criticism. I will work on clarity and transitions. \n\nIf Jake doesn't know why his mother is angry but just seems angry, then would it still be beneficial to show the audience that in the story anyway?"", 'time': '11:35 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,o96xbo,Honestly?,Nico D.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o96xbo/,/short-story/o96xbo/,Dramatic,0,"['LGBTQ+', 'Transgender', 'Drama']",6 likes,"
A little love letter to Midwest emo.
-
Sean and Valerie have just crossed the Ohio border, and they are not in love.
	They were, once, Sean thinks. He isn’t sure exactly when or for how long.
	It could have been when they first met in middle school, when they had not yet chosen the names they use now, and for the first time they had each found someone like them—though, at the time, they did not know what exactly that meant. Or that one summer late in high school, when a night of fooling around ended with Valerie’s realization that she was not a boy like Sean, and they held each other for a long time, the Brave Little Abacus warbling from Valerie’s shoddy but deeply cherished wireless speaker. Or even just under a year earlier, when they were reunited by fate at the pharmacy in their hometown, and Sean thanked the God he occasionally believes in for the chance to know Valerie again. The irritation at his Androgel being withheld for preauthorization (or something) melted away.
	Even now, he remembers listening to “Please Don’t Cry, They Stopped Hours Ago” and smiling the whole drive home that day. Objectively, it’s a sad song, with its theme of drowning and angsty, almost choking vocals, but it was one of Their songs, so to speak, and it hurt less to hear it now that he knew whatever it was that was between them wasn’t ruined. Or it hurt in a way that was cathartic, had a kind of healing power. It was hard to explain to himself.
	They have talked about going to the American Football house in Urbana, Illinois since high school. It started out as a kind of pipe dream, something to get excited about at random intervals. But now that they’re older and work enough to be able to pay for the various expenses of a road trip from the East Coast to the Midwest, they can finally make their emo kid pilgrimage. And maybe, Sean hopes, however naively, they will somehow again find within one another what it was that drew them together all those times before. They have remained inextricably linked, somehow, even in their periods of distance. Even when things have gone cold, neither of them has ever once been willing to fully let go. 
	Sean wants to love other people. He knows that it’s terrible.
	“God, I hate driving through Pennsylvania,” Valerie says, turning down the stereo a few notches. Sean does not feel like talking. It seems to Sean that Valerie often feels like talking when a song he particularly likes is playing. This time, it’s “Why Did Ever We Meet.” It’s eerily relevant.
	Valerie continues, “Then again, Ohio isn’t much better.”
	“It’s really not,” Sean agrees, because what else is there to talk about? There is nothing around for miles, no outstanding scenery to comment on. When you’ve spent your whole life in the confines of the New York metropolitan area, driving through the Midwest is unsettling in that way. Even New Jersey has more colorful views. Right now, there aren’t even any Amish people mysteriously along the side of the highway to wonder aloud about like Sean did with his parents when they would drive to Pittsburgh to visit some family friends. How did they get here? Don’t they, like, not use cars or anything? It may have been shallow, ignorant, but it was something to make conversation with where there wasn’t much else to talk about.
	They are quiet again. The Ohio sky is characteristically medium-gray. Sean keeps finding himself hoping to watch Route 80 curve around a hillside or something, just to look at something else. Variations in their path became fewer and further between as they went farther west into Pennsylvania. Sean wishes that he was asleep. Valerie insisted upon being behind the wheel for at least the drive there, if not also the drive back, because Sean’s driving makes her carsick, apparently. Sean wishes he had a similar excuse. He is impossibly bored. 
	Since there is nothing outside to notice, he observes little things about the reality contained in Valerie’s CR-V—the car she has been driving since high school—like the cluster of Little Trees hanging from the rearview mirror, all only faintly scented now, in a mild amalgamation of black ice, vanilla, and new car. Valerie doesn’t smoke anymore, but the smell of cigarettes still lingers, embedded in the fabric over the seats. She keeps her car cleaner than Sean does his, always has; it makes him feel gross. He catches his reflection in the mirror on the passenger side, self-consciously takes note of a cluster of acne along his jaw, suppresses the urge to analyze the degree to which the structure of his face is feminine. Instead, Sean studies Valerie’s profile, trying to pinpoint what about it has changed since they first met. He wonders if she has always had this many freckles, if taking estrogen has somehow changed the texture of her hair. Her black eyeliner is almost perfectly sharp—the edge of its wing blurs just slightly in a space so small that it is barely noticeable. Sean feels like he knows a secret.
	Valerie catches Sean looking. He turns back to the window, a little embarrassed.
	Valerie glances over at Sean with something like concern, then turns the volume dial up so that it is louder than it was before she had fruitlessly attempted conversation. She hums softly along to “I Was Never Your Boyfriend”—one of Sean’s contributions to the mix they put together for the trip. It catches him off guard.
	Sean says, “I thought you didn’t like Tigers Jaw.”
	“I didn’t,” Valerie says, “but then I listened to this album again. After I saw you at the pharmacy.”
	“And you liked it?”
	“Yeah, I did.” She smiles. “Loved it, actually.”
	“I thought you would,” Sean says, “you know, when I first told you about it. I was pretty surprised when you didn’t.” He doesn’t say that it made him feel like he didn’t know her like he was supposed to, like he was failing her somehow.
	“I can’t even remember why I didn’t like it. Probably some pretentious bullshit reason.”
	“These melodies are, like, totally generic,” Sean says in a High School Valerie impression. He hopes it doesn’t sound mean.
	To Sean’s relief, Valerie laughs. “Something like that.” But her voice is softer now, and Sean feels like an asshole.
	“Sorry.” Heat rises to Sean’s cheeks. There is a bump in the road.
	“No, no, it’s okay,” Valerie assures him. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” She gives another laugh. For good measure, Sean thinks. He nods awkwardly, unsure of how to respond, if he should respond at all. He doesn’t want to start another fight. The shouting match at the gas station in Pennsylvania this morning was nearly enough to ruin the trip altogether. He still feels like an idiot for taking as long as he did to figure out how to pump gas—just one of the abundant joys of a life spent in New Jersey.
	Sean checks the time on the car’s console. They have only been in Ohio for an hour now. The thought of another two hours of Ohio makes Sean feel a little nauseous. He wonders: is it possible to have cabin fever in a moving car? He closes his eyes. The stereo plays “Exit Does Not Exist.” It sure doesn’t seem to, he thinks.
	Halfway through the song, Valerie asks, “Which album is this one on again? The Lonesome Crowded West?”
	Sean sighs tiredly. “It’s on the screen, Val.” It’s awful, but a small, bitter part of Sean is happy not to be the one that gets to feel dumb.
	“Well, duh, Sean, I’m not fucking blind,” Valerie snaps. “God, I just wanted to talk to you.” Her voice quavers on talk. “About anything.”
	Silence fills the space of the car, which feels more claustrophobic with every hour. Sean feels his body, his face getting warmer. This is something that happens to him on testosterone: any negative emotions arise and he feels physically hot, especially in his face. They pass a small cluster of presumably Amish people standing in the uniform expanse of grass to the right of the highway. How did they get here, Sean doesn’t ask.
	“I’m sorry for getting nasty with you,” Valerie finally says. “It’s just—I miss the way we used to talk, you know? Why don’t you ever want to talk anymore?”
	It’s not like Sean couldn’t see this conversation coming, but the question freezes him nonetheless. “I,” he starts. He pauses tentatively. His face feels even warmer.
	“It’s okay, Sean,” Valerie says, “you can tell me. I won’t be mad.” Sean has his doubts.
	""Honestly? You’re always making me feel stupid,” he confesses.
	A look of genuine shock—not offense—crosses Valerie’s face. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
	Sean scoffs. Something dead lies in the right lane in front of them. Valerie makes a jagged merge left.
	Valerie looks at Sean, wide-eyed. “Sean, I don’t think you’re stupid,” she repeats, something like desperation in the way she says it. She turns down the stereo so low that it’s nearly silent.
	“You act like everything should be so fucking obvious,” Sean says. “Like this morning. How was I supposed to be 100% confident to pump gas? We grew up in fucking New Jersey, Val. I had to make sure I was doing it right so we didn’t blow up the tank or whatever.” He goes for a drink from the plastic water bottle they’ve been sharing only to feel a single drop on his dry tongue. “And why couldn’t you just do it yourself, if I was taking so goddamn long?”
	“I offered, remember?” Valerie asks rhetorically. “You literally insisted upon doing it yourself.”
	Sean is quiet. He hates that she’s right.
	“It’s like you think it’s fucking emasculating or something to let me help you with anything,” Valerie continues. “Like, you know I’m the last person to think you’re less of a man for that.”
	“That’s not it,” Sean mutters, though she’s not entirely wrong about that. “It’s just like—it’s like all of the stuff I care about is shallow and meaningless to you.” He hates how teenaged he sounds.
	“How so?” Valerie asks, not interrogatively, but more like a therapist asking a patient to elaborate on some irrational notion. Sean can’t stand it when she uses that tone. He knows that it’s Valerie’s way of being open to conversation, but it gets under his skin nonetheless. 
	Sean tries to reciprocate her patience. “Like, whenever we talk about music, you just dominate the whole conversation,” he says. “And you act like it’s just cute that I love the bands I do. You just don’t take me seriously. You don’t listen. You just end up monologuing about each of the waves of emo or something.” The words come out faster than he can think.
	Sean waits impatiently for whatever Valerie has to say to him. Her eyes are trained on the road, still unchanging. Sean never thought he would want to be in Indiana. Getting out of Ohio is all he can think about now. The invariability of the landscape is starting to feel suffocating. He briefly imagines himself clawing at the walls of a white padded room. 
	“I wish you would’ve told me that sooner,” Valerie says softly. She sniffles. “I’m so, so sorry.” She wipes her eye with the heel of her hand, her knuckles white on the other gripping the wheel. Guilt pools in Sean’s chest.
	“No,” Sean says, “I’m sorry. I’m just taking my insecurities out on you. Just forget I said anything.” He kicks himself; he should have known he wouldn’t be able to stomach Valerie crying in any capacity. It is his ultimate weakness.
	“I want to listen to you talk,” Valerie says. She gently lays a hand on Sean’s thigh. “Really. I just—I love listening to myself talk too much sometimes,” she admits. Sean almost can’t believe what he’s hearing.
	“I love listening to you talk,” Sean says, kind of breathless. “I just want to feel like you care about my passions, too, y’know? Like when we were younger.” He feels like a melodramatic middle schooler. It doesn’t help that his voice cracks when he says it. He and Valerie usually laugh when that happens. He almost anticipates it. 
	Instead, Valerie nods, biting her lip. Her eyes are cast down for a moment, as if she has just been scolded by her favorite teacher, before she apparently remembers that she’s still driving and snaps her head back up to the road. “I’m sorry, Sean,” she says again, more steadily this time but just as sincerely.
	“I’m sorry, too,” Sean says. He isn’t sure if he can look at her yet. They both stare straight in front of them for what feels like hours.
	The medium-gray sky is fading to black, unlit for the moon hidden beneath a thick blanket of clouds. Valerie puts on her high beams. Sean would usually tell her to turn them off to avoid blinding other drivers, but they have been alone on the highway for a long time now. At the peak of a metal arch over the highway is a lit-up sign that reads WELCOME TO INDIANA. It looks surprisingly new.
	“Wow,” Valerie says. “Indiana.”
	“Now we’re really in the Midwest.”
	Valerie snorts lightly. “Are there even any Midwest emo bands from here? I just realized I can’t think of any.”
	“I mean, they probably exist, theoretically,” Sean says. “But not any relevant ones.”
	“Speaking of Midwest emo, we haven’t had the music on for like, ever.”
	“We should change that.”
	“For sure.” Valerie adjusts the volume to an audible level. It’s another one of Sean’s picks: “Heir Apparent.”
	Valerie’s brow is furrowed in concentration, as if she’s trying to figure out if she has heard the song before. After a moment, she glances at the screen. “Wait, this is American Football?”
	“Um, yes?” Sean says, unable to hide his shock. “Have you not listened to this album?”
	“Okay, confession,” Valerie says. “I still only listen to their nineties stuff.”
	“Valerie!” Sean gasps, clapping his palm to his chest in mock offense. “You’re a fake fan! And to think we’re on our way to the American Football house itself!”
	“I swear I’ve been meaning to!” 
	“Okay, we’re listening to LP3 right now,” Sean says. He enters Valerie’s passcode into her phone—Sean technically has aux control as the passenger, but Valerie has Spotify Premium—and queues up American Football’s third self-titled LP. “So a lot of people, mostly older fans, don’t really like this one because it’s really different from their early stuff, naturally.”
	""How so?” Valerie asks, decidedly less like a therapist this time.
	“Well, they kind of go in this washed out, dream pop direction, and it’s not teen angsty like LP1, which was, I think, what made that record so beloved. Like, Mike Kinsella went from literally being a teenager whine-singing about breakups and growing up and shit to a grown-ass man reflecting on all of that. It makes for a much more mature sound, but I guess it just doesn’t hit as close to home for a lot of people. I like it, though.” Sean realizes that he’s rambling. “Shit, sorry.”
	“Don’t be,” Valerie says. She smiles warmly at him. “I forgot how much I liked listening to you talk.”
	Sean looks down into his lap, sheepish. “I know you’re more well-versed in music than I am, so I probably sound kind of dumb.”
	“You don’t,” Valerie says, “I promise.” 
	“Thanks.” The bluish light of the dashboard dimly illuminates the contours of Valerie’s face, and Sean can’t help but stare like he’s a teenager in love again.
","August 04, 2023 20:29",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,4iho52,The Car,Lucia Whitely,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4iho52/,/short-story/4iho52/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Contemporary']",6 likes,"
 There was nothing really special about the car until you stepped inside it. From the outside it was just another plain matt black car with a slight dent on the left hand side of the bumper nut when you entered the car it shone but not in a glossy way. It shone from the love that had gone into the car from its owners. You could instantly tell by looking at the car that it was a car that had been religiously taken into a drive-through car wash every Sunday and then rubbed with a chammy cloth by its owner until not a miniscule speck of dust had remained on the car. The car was then waxed professionally and then a hoover was ran lovingly over the imitation leather seats and the windows were scrubbed until every strand of spiders’ webs were removed. Spiders were inexplicably attracted to the car and would weave intricately beautiful patterns in the corner of the windows especially on the left hand side of the car.
 
Its owners were a family of three. Martin, Jessica and Cameron. Martin was the father of the group who cared so much for his car which Jessica and Cameron called his third child. Jessica was the eldest of the two siblings and was much quieter than Cameron, often assuming a pensive look on her face and kept her opinions to herself. Cameron, often had what he termed verbal diarrhoea, he never stopped speaking and it was often pure gibberish that tumbled out of his mouth and one could see that he struggled to arrange his thoughts before he spoke and so there often failed to be any logic to his speeches.
 
They were an eclectic family that came together rarely as Cameron and Jessica had moved away from their parents and were living their own lives within their own circles. Jessica had trained for four years to become a lawyer but had suddenly decided to follow her real passion which was becoming a secondary school teacher of classics. Whenever she spoke about work to her family it was always inside the car as the car represented a safe, contained space to her. She had come out to her family as bisexual in the car, had told them about her marriage in the car and then the subsequent breakdown of the engagement. The only time her father and brother had seen Jessica cry was inside the car.
 
Cameron was a professional drummer but he had never believed enough in his potential to join a band that was serious about becoming stars in any genre of the music industry. Instead he allowed himself to be resigned to a dead-end job in Shake Shack and to believe that being promoted to manager was a serious achievement. In the car, that was the only the time he spoke to his father. For some reason, which he could not really explain, he did not get on with his father, there was no real familial bond. Cameron thought it was because he had not followed any of his dreams and passions or really achieved anything actually substantial as an adult. Outside of the car, Cameron was lucky if his father ever looked in his direction and if he did it was to show his judgement about something Cameron had said.
Martin was not an important person. He was retired, widowed, and a balding middle aged man who bordered on the line of being described as nondescript. No-one really remembered Martin, he barely had any friends and since his wife’s death he had taken to drinking his usual afternoon two pints at home alone. The bartender in the pub Martin had been attending for the last twenty years every afternoon the pub was open did not even realise that Martin had stopped attending the pub. Martin’s compact existence meant that he struggled to convey his emotions and this had led to a breakdown in his communication skills with his children and he knew that he was going to die alone and probably would not really be grieved for by his children but Martin was perfectly okay with it or so he said.
 
Growing up Jessica and Cameron always had memories of their mother sat in the front seat always eating chocolate covered peanuts or yoghurt covered raspberries and singing along to the most underground artists unimaginable that could only be found on Soundcloud. Now as adults they were painfully aware of the fact that the front seat always remained empty in Martin’s car. No-one had sat in it since their mother’s death. However, they were unaware that for each of them the seat represented something different.
 
For Jessica, the empty seat was for the baby that she had lost during her second trimester due to a nasty fall down a flight of stairs. Every time she looked at the seat she was reminded of the pain of losing her child as well as the loss of her fiancée as their marriage broke down soon after the death of the baby. The physical emptiness of the seat was too metaphorical for her liking but she would never tell Cameron or Martin what the empty seat really meant to her.
 
For Cameron, the empty seat was for his unfulfilled passions such as becoming a professional drummer. He imagined crowds cheering him on as he bashed out the most syncopated and complex rhythm on his blue acoustic drum set. However, Cameron believed that the fantasies he had about making a mark for himself in the music profession had passed and now he had to work for a company that he did not really like. But he believed that seeing the empty seat as his unrealised dreams was too selfish so he never corrected Martin’s and Jessica’s supposed belief that he saw the empty seat as a representation of their lost mother.
 
For Martin, the empty seat was allegorical for the person he could have become. He imagined a new and improved version of himself that attracted attention form strangers and friends alike and that he was driving a more powerful car than is Peugeot sports car. Martin felt like a shell of the man that he could have been and his pride and joy was his car. It was the one thing he felt proud of. He was not proud of his wife, his marriage, his children but his car was the sole thing that kept him going. Martin had been so alone for so long that he had shut out the good things in his life such as children but had been all-encompassed by the car.  
","August 04, 2023 20:57",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,avkf7t,Please Don't Bury Me,Marshal Streigh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/avkf7t/,/short-story/avkf7t/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Drama', 'Crime']",6 likes,"
Content Warning: This story contains material concerning suicide, sexual harassment, and physical violence.
 
***
 
Charlie plucked a fry from the floor mat. Taking his eyes off the road, he studied it for contamination, gave it one long blow, and bit down. The car slanted right and hit the rumble strips.
 
Francis hated watching Charlie eat, so she stared out her window and looked into the sun, flexing her ear muscles, attempting to blot out the lazy wet drumbeat of the horse-like chewing. Grandma sat in the middle backseat, her body filling the car with a mighty smell of decay, one only acquired after nine long decades of getting by.
 
The three travelers rolled towards Grand Island, Nebraska, to attend a funeral of sorts. Four days ago, Charlie’s grandpa, Charlie Sr., passed away in his sleep—peacefully, doctors said. Although, two weeks before his demise, Charlie Sr. had tried, and failed quite embarrassingly, to hang himself. It was the method, more than the attempt, that puzzled his relatives, given his having only one arm.
 
Grandma smiled for the first time in forty years after hearing about her husband’s botched suicide, and after learning of his death, she sang for the first time anyone could remember. She sang the happy birthday song because it was the only one she knew any lyrics to.
 
The Honda’s mile counter ticked past 400,000 as it hissed and creaked Westward across Interstate 10. The noon sun lounged high and hot in the cloudless sky like a big bright wart. Each passenger held a bitter gut from inhaling, for over six hours, a rank cocktail of vapors from fast food, hot luggage, and cheap perfumes. That morning Francis had practically baptized herself in a sour apple body spray that Charlie had bought for her birthday six years prior.
 
Charlie unfolded another value menu sandwich and said, “Christ, Frankie. Yer smellin’ real bad today.”
 
Francis took a break from staring at the sun to serve Charlie a deadly glance, but she looked away immediately after noticing a streak of yellow mayonnaise shining across his lower chin.
 
Charlie messed with the radio. After listening to a thrash metal song and a commercial about a used car lot’s Labor Day Extravaganza, he settled on a political talk show. The man on the radio screamed about abortion, the Constitution, and all things wicked and holy. Charlie nodded from time to time as Francis released small, disgusted sighs. Grandma perked up and brought out a sheet of notepaper and her New Testament; she felt very strongly about politics and considered herself somewhat of a pundit; every evening, for four hours, she used her computer to tune into a live stream series called “The Plain Truth, with Dane O’Neill.” Mr. O’Neill covered many profound political subjects like God’s final judgment on nations, deep state maneuverings, and the dangers and perversions of socialism.
 
After listening for about 90 seconds, Grandma began pointing out where the man in the radio was wrong. She explained that abortion administrators weren’t just satisfied with dissecting unborn children and leaving them in the trash for the sake of radical feminism. They repurposed the discarded corpses, she said, specifically brains and livers, and brewed them with herbs and chemicals, turning them into a drink that would prevent aging. They would distribute the brew in unmarked bottles amongst an inner circle of liberals and anarchists. Somehow, but how exactly Grandma failed to express, this practice was initiated by executives of a prominent American ketchup company.
 
Charlie lowered the radio. “I dunno about all that, Gramma,” he said. “But it’s sure messed up, that part’s right. Heath’ns and fuckers, all’em.”
 
“O’go’onnn,” Francis mocked. “Heeed’ns and fuckers. As if you did’n’ have me go get a ‘bortion two months being together.”
 
Charlie replied, “Yeah, but ‘tween me and you, that’s different. We were getting by, nuthin else…Of course,” Charlie said, avoiding eye contact, “it’s a regret.”
 
Francis’ eyes rolled high and wide. Grandma looked on, confused but interested. Trying to keep up, she stammered, touching Francis on the arm, “You went for an abortion?”
 
“Shure, Mee-Maw. Hadda make a habit outta it, too. ‘Specially with this cheap jack-rebbit refusin’ ta…well,” she stopped, deciding to keep things appropriate in front of her boyfriend’s grandmother. Francis stretched her bare feet out on the dash, “But it ain't like you never had one er two yerself, Granny. I heard Aunt Rhonda talking about you in the past.”
 
Grandma sat silent, pretending she could neither see nor hear anything. Francis continued her interrogation; curling around the passenger seat, she said, “Don’t play dumb for me.”
 
“I—I don’t,” Grandma said, squinting out the window, lifting her wrinkled hand over her wrinkled eyebrows as if straining to see a distant roadside attraction.
 
Twenty minutes passed; every minute silent as a basket of dead cats. Then, Charlie broke the silence like a demolition expert, “Look. I know we talk. N’politics people talk. But it ain’t ’shameful to receive an abortion there, Gramma.”
 
“I...I…don’t…” Grandma said. She opened her purse and grabbed a baggie of cornflakes. She examined each flake before placing it in her mouth.
 
Another twenty minutes passed, with only the sound of cereal being ground and swallowed. Then the chewing stopped, and Grandma said, “I didn’t know it was an abortion.”
 
Francis laughed involuntarily, and Charlie had to bridle his grin.
 
“Watch-u even mean by that?” Francis said, adjusting the rearview mirror to bring Grandma’s face into view.
 
“Oh, I didn’t know.” Grandma said. “It was the vet-er-in-air-ian who gave me the medicine to drink.”
 
“Ya-mean ya-didn’ know what you were takin’? And took-et from a kitty doctor?” Francis replied.
 
“Well—not really. Charlie—my husband, Charlie—said I’d feel better. He said it would fix our relationship,” Grandma explained.
 
“HA!” Francis said, throwing up a vicious set of air quotes, “Fix the re-LAY-tion-ship! I’ve heard that one. What else do ya-think that could mean but a ‘bortion?”
 
Charlie laughed over Francis, slapping the steering wheel, “Hell, that vet fixed it real good, Gramma. So good, yer on yer way now to go laugh away at his burial.”
 
“I don’t want to see his burial,” Grandma said.
 
“Awwwww. Now don’t be like that now,” Charlie said with true concern. “Shhhhure he was a loveless bas-terd far’s I knew’em…and he’s an ex-spouse n’all. But you loved’em. N’he loved you. And you traversed all this way.”
 
“He never was my ex,” Grandma explained. “We never divorced. That would be an abomination in the Lord’s eyes…But I only loved him for a short while. And I don’t have to love him now. Besides, I always loved Dennis more.”
 
Charlie took his foot off the gas and gazed—violent and wild—at the road ahead as if it took up in flame and flooded all at once. His breathing grew heavier as he passed a dozen confused glances between the rearview and the road.
 
Francis’ eyes widened as soon as Grandma mentioned Dennis. She clutched her seat so tight that a few of her fake nails came unglued. Grandma sat in the back, oblivious to the tension she caused, and searched for another cornflake.
 
“Gramm—what do’ya mean by that now?” Charlie said. The Honda was rolling at 35 mph in the middle lane. Cars and freighters whizzed by, a chorus of horns erupting around them.
 
“I loved Dennis much longer than I loved Charlie,"" Grandma said, smiling as if fantasizing about a middle school sweetheart. ""But only until your father found out.” 
 
The car rolled halfway onto the shoulder. Charlie shifted to neutral but accidentally stomped the gas. The engine revved and whined, his mind sputtering, “S’s’s’s's's’you’re why dad turned on Dennis?” He whipped around, bringing his face an inch from Grandma’s.
 
“Charlie,” Francis hummed, reaching out to calm him.
 
“Stay outta this,” he said, swatting her hand. He turned back, getting louder. “That’s why he nearly killed him with the weedwhacker?”
 
Grandma turned away and looked out the window.
 
“You look at me!” Charlie yelled. Freighters were shrieking, creating gusts rocking the car from side to side.
 
“Charlie!” Francis wailed.
 
He ignored his girlfriend’s plea and roared, “THAT’S WHY HE BEEN IN PRISON FIFTEEN YEARS, NO PAROLE! CUZ YOU WERE FFFF-UCKIN MY DAD'S GOOD FRIEND!! CUZ YOU HATED YER SHITTY CHEATIN’ DOG OF-A HUSBAND?!?! ALL THESE YEARS EVERYBODY LYIN', SAYIN' IT’S.”
 
He paused, becalmed, and said, “Err’body sayin’ it's over a stolen fuckin’…”
 
Charlie looked back and said, almost politely, “Gramma. Git your filthy—decievin’—half-rotted—harlot’s-womb th’fuck out my car.”
 
Not a second after Charlie said this, an extreme force threw the Honda off the shoulder and into a steep ditch.
 
***
 
The car lay upturned, four wheels pointed toward heaven. Francis and Charlie hadn’t been wearing safety belts and were now laid out on the roof. Dust, stale fries, marijuana crumbs, and loose change trickled from seat crevices above. Grandma, who had been strapped in, now hung upside down like a giant old spider. Blood streamed from her lips and formed a small red pool on the roof.
 
Charlie sobbed, laying face down, clutching his head. He couldn’t stop repeating, “Ohhhhh daddy….”
 
A short, circular man in thick brown overalls descended the highway embankment. He poked his pink, unshaven face through a shattered window, “Jeeeeeesus almighty! You were in the road! I hit you with the truck! It was on accident cuz’...” He stopped and made eye contact with Grandma’s still, upside-down face.
 
“Get th’hell away,” Charlie said, slurring, keeping his face flat down. “It’s family bidnis.”
 
“I already called the cops,"" the man explained. ""Told ‘em you was right in the road. Got a witness up there, too, to co-rob-er-rate. I ‘member e’zactly what happ’n’d, but I’m sure it’s fuzzier fer you folk.”
 
Charlie broke in, “I don’t give a damn 'bout things happened. The old bitch put my daddy in for fifteen…fiftee...You can have her for payment.” Charlie began mashing every syllable, “N’take’er. N’take’er. N’throw’er off a big’l mount’n. Or give er’t' buzzards…”
 
Francis cut in, “Call a medic. Charlie hit his head, and my arm’s broke. Granny may be dead in the back.”
 
The man looked Grandma again in the eyes. They were wide, pale, and blinking. The man answered, “Sh’looks plenty alive to me.”
 
He started back up the embankment, shouting out, “I’ll call one now. I think the po-lice are already drivin’ over. Caint’ bl’eive you were parked in the road.” His voice faded away.
 
Francis shook Charlie, saying, “Charlie, you can’t fall ‘sleep. You’ve gotta stay up for a while.”
 
Ten minutes later, a police officer tripped and fell down the embankment. He approached the Honda, which now looked like a mass of green tissue crumpled in the ditch. The officer peered in, looking directly at Grandma, who swung in her seat, now clutching a purse.
 
The officer said sternly, “You folks alright in there?”
 
Francis looked over, “Charlie might have a head kin-cushin.”
 
The officer ignored Francis and walked around the car, “I see the tags expired last year. That’ll be a fine.”
 
Charlie groaned, “Get away. No cops. It's here is family bizness.”
 
The officer crouched by the driver’s window and shined a small light into Charlie's eyes. Then he said, “We’ll need to git you to the hosp’t’ll, son. But the only amb-ya-lance is forty minutes away.” The officer thought, then said, “We’ll take the squad car.”
 
A few bystanders waiting for traffic to clear carried the three wounded bodies from the Honda to the police vehicle. Traffic was blocked both ways, given the semi that hit them was carrying an oversized load that came loose on impact. Now, an upturned double-wide trailer home blocked both lanes.
 
The officer singlehandedly carried Grandma, given she weighed only 84 pounds. But the entire way, she fussed, accusing him of attempting to molest her. She explained to the bystanders, blood still draining from her lips, how many cops are degenerate guardians of the high federal order, paid off by politicians so they can perform sick sexual dealings with impunity.
 
The squad car rolled down the highway. Charlie sat in the back, murmuring about his daddy. Francis winced in silence and clutched her arm. Grandma stared at the officer’s head, studying the indentation of his skull.
 
The officer spoke to them through a lip crammed with chewing tobacco, “I’ll see yer licenses when we get to the hosp’t’ll. More’n’ likely thur’ll be legal reper-cushins for the recklessness.”
 
He turned down a dirt road. Grandma leaned over and said, “Where is he taking us?”
 
The officer spat into a half-empty empty chip bag and responded, “I told ya, ma’am, the hosp’t’ll. Gotta go this way cuz it’s a bit shorter, distance-wise. But still, a long way to go. Picked a bad spot to get yerselves all torn up.”
 
They sat in silence. Grandma fumbled through her purse. 
 
A small sharp pop rang through the cabin. The noise jolted Charlie’s brain, knocking his thoughts back into focus. Francis pressed her face to the window, expecting a blown tire. Then the car slowed, and the officer’s upper half caved forward; his face smacked the steering wheel. A small hole was visible in the lower back of his head. And a thick stream of dark red syrup escaped from it.
 
Charlie and Francis turned to see Grandma gingerly holding a small piece of black steel, smoking at the tip. Grandma stared at the bullet hole and muttered, “Oh my.”
 
***
Francis and Charlie gaped. Finally, Charlie said, “Gramma…Whut. In. Thee. Fuck’d you jus’ do?”
 
Francis yammered over Charlie, “Is he?” She started breathing uncontrollably, “Oh! You killed’em! Oh-ma-gawd-he-ain’t-breathin’!! Er-er-er nothin’! He’s dead! He so’so’ dead!”
 
Charlie snagged the tiny pistol and snapped, “Where th’fuck did you get a Saturday Night Special, Gramma? Them are outlawed.”
 
“I always kept it in my purse,” Grandma replied.
 
“But he didn’ do nuthin’ to ya for you to kill ‘im.” Charlie said.
 
Francis whimpered, “We’re goin’t prison for this. It's a murder.”
 
Defending herself, Grandma stated, “He was molesting me in the ditch. And he was taking us down this dirt road.”
 
“Ohhhhh you crazy ole’bit-- ain’t NO ONE MUH-LEST you!” Charlie said, annoyed more than furious, “If ammo was any cheaper, I’d spare you a round er’ two.”
 
They sat for five minutes, not a car in sight on the lonely dirt path. The panic settled, and finally, Charlie said, “I guess we better go.”
 
“To where?” Francis asked.
 
“Were bout’ forty mile off Grand Island. They’ll have a grave laid in Grampa’s field. The body’ll need to be put under,” Charlie said.
 
“But won’ they find ‘im there?” Francis asked.
 
“Prolly not, if we put ‘em deep. Fi’teen, twenny feet er’so. Saw it in N.C.I.S.,” Charlie said, his false assurance soothing Francis’ nerves. Grandma sat in the back, motionless but smiling, gazing at the officer’s blood that formed a puddle at her feet.
 
Charlie buckled the corpse into the back seat beside Grandma and found some napkins in the glovebox to plug the bullet hole. They began again down the dirt road.
 
The sun sagged, and the sky turned a deep pink over the fields of Nebraska. Charlie reached over and gently touched Francis’ hand. Grandma stared at the corpse for a while, then leaned her head against the window to watch the sun go down on what, for her, was an exhausting and exciting day. Her head hit the window with an audible thump.
 
Charlie heard the noise and spoke up, “Gee Gramma. I’m sorry bout earlier. I had no place callin’ you such filth. Think that roast'bif upset my stomach.”
 
Grandma said nothing, so Charlie continued, “But juss know I mean it. It's Daddy’s fault for tryna kill Dennis with his whacker. Though, it’s no less awful fer you to do that with Dennis, bein’ his friend n’all.”
 
Grandma remained quiet as the corpse beside her.
 
The sun was half-gone behind the horizon as they approached the farm, the sky now a bright, menacing ocean of red. They drove past the grandpa's shed and into a bare field, where they saw nothing but a tiny patch of black a few hundred yards in the distance.
 
“Over there,” Francis said, pointing to the patch.
 
The squad car crept through the field; dead corn stalks snapped under the car’s weight. The black mass grew as they approached. There, they discovered Grandpa’s body lying on top of the ground. A buzzard stood on his chest, waiting for his flesh to ferment. The car inched closer, and the giant, hideous creature pumped its wings, lifting its heavy frame from the body and into the sky, where it spiraled above impatiently.
 
“Sheeeit,” Charlie said. “Guess nobody paid an undertake"" He cut himself short and drove the car further to inspect the body. Looking down, he saw a small sheet of paper taped to the body's stomach. It read: Please Don't Bury Me.
 
Francis made the sign of the cross and looked away.
 
“You wanna a word, Gramma?” Charlie asked, looking back.
 
Grandma stared motionless, eyes frozen in her head like two dull river stones, dried blood painted over her lips. This look struck Charlie with deep fear. “Gramma?” Charlie said. “Gramma! You okay!?”
 
He reached out and shook her. She fell slowly and mechanically to the side. Her head landed face-up in the officer’s lap, still holding that strange, satisfied smile. Charlie turned to Francis, “Sheeit.”
 
***
 
Francis and Charlie pushed the two bodies from the backseat onto Grandpa's. Charlie and Francis stared at the tiny mound of death from the car.
 
“Guess we’ll leave ‘em,” Charlie said as if he’d done everything possible for them. He inched the car around bodies, opened the door, and, reaching low, he took his grandmother’s left hand and fashioned her fingers around the wrist of his grandfather’s one remaining arm.
 
“Well,” he eulogized as the turkey vulture descended. “I ‘spose she got all’th time in the world to laugh at him now, down there.”
 
","August 04, 2023 22:04",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,x44e2k,Turkey Stew,Kaayala Aver,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x44e2k/,/short-story/x44e2k/,Dramatic,0,"['African American', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
In Delta, with the Oyinvwi’s, the very first evil Edojah tasted was a surprise to her mother. Edojah’s mother was a hawker who peddled handcrafted items like fabrics and ceramics she drew herself on the streets. Edojah accompanied her when she was selling more than her usuals–days when she was selling head plates of food and drinks in plastic bottles; both the kind she made and the kind she didn’t. They’d go to big cities and walk the street. It was the only time Edojah was allowed on the road by herself. 
	""Use that charm of yours,"" her mother would tell her, disappearing into the crowd. Guided by lessons from veteran hawkers, her mother knew how to maximize sales by sundown. Alone on street corners, Edojah quickly learned that the veterans were, in truth, nothing more than selfish amateurs. They preferred to work alone, like her mother, and navigated the cities with an intimate familiarity they didn’t care to share firsthand. Her mother would walk until her soles were burnt, arms laden with handcrafted goods and a head plate of treats, and Edojah would coax customers towards her. By evening, both their scarves were heavy with naira.
	Her father, an electrician, didn’t like what her mother did. He especially didn’t like the idea of Edojah in the big city alone. What’s wrong with being alone? Was always her mother’s answer. We made alone. We live alone. We get hurt alone. We die alone. We cry alone. We think alone. We die alone again. Then she took her hawking again the very next day.
	They stayed out there for merely an hour.
	Edojah had quickly sold all of her sweets and even most of her fabrics. She scanned the road, searching between cars along the white dashes for her mother. She finally found her after squeezing through a group of people. Her mother was in the corner, surprised in a city she thought she knew. 
	Her father said she needed her space, so she and her brothers gave her that. The night before her father wanted to surprise her, and four nights after her mother was attacked, Edojah saw her mother in front of her mirror finger curling her hair and grinning to herself as she sang Na since den trouble starti oh (huh, huh).
	Edojah’s father took her and her four brothers in his truck and drove down the long red road that next morning for what he called an ‘adventure’. Her father’s truck always wobbled on that road. That early in the morning, it had lulled her and her youngest brother to sleep. When the car doors chanted open, they awoke. The road wasn’t red anymore or wobbly, but a smooth dirt field that housed red sheds. Edojah followed her father through it. Then, he stopped them at one of those sheds he said a man he knew owned, and told Edojah to stay out front and guided his boys through it and watched as they tried to catch one of the many turkeys. Edojah, walking slowly over the peanut hulls, only wondered what turkeys ate or what they did all day cooped in that shed, watching from the mesh window. Her brothers never caught that turkey, but her father did. And as she found a lone white turkey in the very back amongst all those brown feathered ones, he knelt down and showed them how to snap a turkey’s neck. Then he handed it to Edojah in the backseat so as to not leave her out (because the killing was a man’s thing and the dealing with what the killing left behind was best handled with a woman’s hand, Edojah supposed is what he meant by that). 
	Her youngest brother cried, but Edojah didn’t. 
	Their father drove with hard knuckles and rough palms. He told them to stop crying. He said she had the honor of bestowing her mother’s surprise, but truthfully it had been because she was the only one who didn’t seem fazed by that dead turkey in her lap, whose neck hung off her thigh. Edojah figured that was when she learned evil existed all over the place and at each time like darkness do; a shadow not too far from the sun, a house with every one of the lights on that eventually got to shut its eyes, a secret corner in a big city, a familiar road in the dark spreading heavier than it would in the daytime, blinking her eyes just before the turkey died and missing the moment of its death, but tasting it later on.
	Edojah blamed the Urhobo family in Delta for her being a vegan. Not the conscious or moral choice most people had to blame, that mother’s surprise. Her favorite: Nigerian turkey stew.
	Incarné chuckled softly at the thought of that. “We’re on borrowed time and you’re going on about supper?” She shuffled on the seat that she had once rambled about; the heated cushions and the sage moldings, regarding the way they shaped against you, but then, after thirteen hour rides, there wasn’t much to say about a seat. After thirteen hours, it became like every other passenger seat she ever sat in.
	“I thought you enjoyed my stories.” Edojah said tonelessly.
	“I do.” She seemed to smile her way, but Edojah wouldn’t know. The van was masked in a dimness, the kind where a low and weak orange light poked holes around the center from a weak interior light on the headliner. Incarné never quite looked at her, unless there was darkness to stand guard between them. “I just never quite understand them.” The headliner was foam lined. The obvious choice. At a certain point it drooped, and if you reached up to feel it, it felt like fiberglass and made you itch all over. Edojah grazed sometimes just for fun. She’d imagine microscopic bugs digging into her skin. She would think of that turkey again.
	“Simple, really.” She studied the length of Incarné’s arm. Watched her scratch at the skin and leave a grayness in its wake. It wasn’t the headliner that made her itch, but Edojah.
	“A little girl and a dead turkey?”
	“To some degree.”
	“Sure.” Incarné shifted her legs away from them both. She turned to eye her, her eyelashes long and fake, sweeping the turn of her sad looking eyes. “And the other degree?”
	“Evil.”
	She nodded slowly, as if her thoughts were a bunch of round spheres she had to roll into place. Her inability to comprehend Edojah became clear. Then she sat forward and checked her watch like she had somewhere to be. She did. Her apartment where everyone was but her; her family sat around a dinner table with a turkey buttered and stuffed in the middle. She tipped her head back up to Edojah, but said nothing.
	As they passed a broken street lamp on a busy corner, Edojah laughed. “Do you not feel it surrounding you?”
	Incarné nodded. Edojah followed suit with a slight tilt of her head. “Such a coincidence that you and I would be on the same page all the time.”
	“No, I…I do.. I almost do. Maybe evil does exist in all ways like you say, or maybe it only exists with man…or maybe it don’t even exist at all.” Incarné preached carefully. The surrounding light turned to a yellow buzz in the underpass, but her own body was still a black shadow in the otherwise dark confinements. Edojah found pleasure in little things, but she liked tunnels and she liked the way the dark sucked you in and spit you out. She watched it almost swallow the woman and almost smiled. When she had been younger, in the middle of the back of that truck, she had done the same. And she had understood her mother a little more then. And they sang Na since den trouble starti oh (huh, huh), while they watched that turkey get swallowed by boiling rouge geysers. Poor things, her mother would mutter over and over again, each time more intentional than the last.
	That had been what her mother taught her: intentional with her words, so it didn’t take her long to understand she wasn’t talking about that dead turkey at all, but all the rest of them behind that mesh in that red turkey farm.
	Edojah would wonder why they were so poor next on a kitchen stool. “Cause we eat them … or they stuck in a cage … or, or cause they raised all mealymouth?”
	Her mother had turned motionless eyes her way. “Na, ‘cause they weak, Edo, poor cause they never stood a chance.”
	Don’t be weak, is what Edojah figured her mother meant by that.
	The tunnel spit them out. Incarné became distinguishable again. “Everything and everybody have a weakness.”
	“Sure, some more than most. Don’t you agree?”
	“What was profound about the concept of a dead turkey?” Incarné veered just as the van had. A sharp left down a quiet neighborhood full of dead or dying leaves and emptying trees. 
	“I just think it’s fascinating how something can transition so easily.”
	They drove over a pothole in the road that threw Incarné off balance for a second, not even confused when it hadn’t phased her in the slightest. Edojah knew they weren’t too different, even though the woman might believe so. Edojah didn’t care to know much about others, but she had accidentally learned that Autumn was her favorite time of the year. She told her that much and watched the way she tried to find her footing in the conversation. Just something for her to have so she didn’t have to come in empty-handed. “There’s a difference between leaves and turkeys.” Was the only thing concrete enough for her to stand on.
	“That being?” Edojah gave her an enigmatic smile.
	Incarné only paused. There was always a part of their road dance that required her to stand down.
	“One thing we all share, Incarné, whether you choose to see it as a weakness or not, is how we all go from hot to cold.”
	“That’s an interesting way to put life and death into words.”
	“That is where you are confused. There is nothing profound about this for me.”
	“Then why?”
	She sat unblinking, her wrists rattling behind her back, making for their own song. “My daddy was a good electrician, not much else. It hadn’t done it with one snap. You learn the way life works like that. Holding it. Being responsible for it. It’s like watching ice melt. That’s all it is.”
	“No sadness? Grief? Disgust?” It was as if Incarné was listing off emotions, hoping Edojah would cradle at least one of them. She didn’t.
	“It’s sad, sure.”
	“You don’t mean that.”
	“You’re right. I don’t.”
	“Then why say it?”
	“Just to. It’s not like I understand emotions. Where they stem from, what their purpose is. Their value. Don’t you think all of that, all you just mentioned, is just the way our responses have been conditioned? How we say stuff we don’t feel?”
	“I think it’s completely irrational to think some don’t value the sanctity of life. And I think it’s irrational that you’ve made it your burden to box that evil up. To believe in it is one thing, but…”
	“Belief holds no value to me. I don’t care about belief or disbelief.”
	“Then why is it your burden to box that evil up?”
	Edojah thought of the dead turkey, the way its neck hung loose from her knee. The hawkers who the truck, growing increasingly and almost irrationally rancid, passed on the big road that reminded her of her mamma and who she never wanted to be. They were like her mamma the way none of them complained, and they definitely didn’t cry. She figured the last time they had cried was in the back of some pickup with a box of rotting turkeys on their laps, their burdens too.
	She thought about the last time she cried. How her mother bent down to her level and told her not to be weak. How she had taken her to that same corner and showed Edojah how to snap a man’s neck. How instead of hugging her, like she had her youngest brother as he sniffled over turkey stew, she watched her puke all of her innocence she might have away.
	Edojah had outgrown a lot of things. Like tears, the back of her daddy’s pickup, and fears. Kind of like the need for street signs, maps, and reminders, yet they lingered in her surroundings. The clock, an uncomfortable glare of dancing numbers. The way the road shifted when the van exited off the highway for the third time. A reminder of just how old the city really was, at the root of it all, despite its embellishments. Pretty buildings, disambiguous sculptures, and fake lawns of grass that hid its age. 
	However, the exit stood as the initial reminder–a gentle descent signaling the shift.
	She shrugged as the car stopped. The prison was the second reminder. Old roses and vines ate at the worn bricks and plaster until it was more foliage than anything. More than anything, proof that nothing really made sense.
	“Somebody got to.”
","August 05, 2023 02:17","[[{'Paul Tolksdorf': '“There’s a difference between leaves and turkeys.”  Maybe that says it all?  Wow.  ""Turkey Stew"" really grabbed me and thrust me into a fascinating world I knew little about.  You capture this family\'s whole existence with incredible skill and economy.  But your story is not just about that existence but how these intelligent vivid characters think and feel about that existence.  Yours is a short story that somehow has the depth of a novel.  You are indeed a wordsmith. I was hooked immediately from your intro.  Your use of italics to convey ...', 'time': '15:22 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kaayala Aver': ""Wow, thank you! This means a lot coming from one wordsmith to another, especially since this is my first time sharing and being creatively vulnerable. I'm glad you took the time out of your day to read this and leave a comment."", 'time': '18:52 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Paul Tolksdorf': 'I was happy to.  Your story was very worth reading.  Your piece served up such a unique voice that I would not be surprised, if you win this contest.  Your work is deserving.  I look forward to reading more of your pieces so I hope you keep sharing it on this site.', 'time': '00:07 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kaayala Aver': ""Wow, thank you! This means a lot coming from one wordsmith to another, especially since this is my first time sharing and being creatively vulnerable. I'm glad you took the time out of your day to read this and leave a comment."", 'time': '18:52 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Paul Tolksdorf': 'I was happy to.  Your story was very worth reading.  Your piece served up such a unique voice that I would not be surprised, if you win this contest.  Your work is deserving.  I look forward to reading more of your pieces so I hope you keep sharing it on this site.', 'time': '00:07 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Paul Tolksdorf': 'I was happy to.  Your story was very worth reading.  Your piece served up such a unique voice that I would not be surprised, if you win this contest.  Your work is deserving.  I look forward to reading more of your pieces so I hope you keep sharing it on this site.', 'time': '00:07 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,f2h519,Fateful Detour,TW Brown,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f2h519/,/short-story/f2h519/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Suspense']",6 likes,"
“Great!” the wife exclaimed, shaking her head with her hand to her forehead. “You missed the damn ramp!”“If you were better at giving me a heads up, this wouldn’t happen!” the husband threw his hand up at the windshield. “I’ll just take the road straight in, maybe the scenic route will help loosen you up.”“Oh, I’m uptight? Here we go again!” she attempted to quiet her voice halfway through.“I’m just saying, you are always stressing over every little thing,” he uttered with a low breath.“If I didn’t worry about everything nothing would get done,” she mumbled watching the trees pass. That’ll change tonight, she proudly thought.“There it is. You always make me feel like I’m useless,” his grip tightened on the steering wheel.“Well, then you need to start being more useful,” she glared back at him.“Everything I do is never good enough. I gave up trying because I was ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t,’ so why waste my time?” his eyes jetted off the road to her for a moment, feeling the water build up in the corner of his eye.“Well, you could at least try. I’m tired of taking the lead and having to control everything. If I wasn’t around this family would fall apart,” her voice stretched and enveloped the entire car. That’s why this is happening. Not me, them, she thought.“Mommy, are you okay?” A tiny voice came from the backseat.“Yes, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so loud,” she grinned reaching back to touch his leg. She turned to look behind her. Well at least the teenager is in her own world, she rolled her eyes facing forward again.“How much longer, Mommy?” the tiny voice let out a heavy breath.“I don’t know, baby. We went a different way,” her shoulders shrugged then a heavy sigh came with it. The way we needed to go at least, she smirked slightly.The husband glared over the steering wheel. “Of course, it’s my fault,” he placed an arm on the door window and rested his hand on his forehead.“Don’t start,” she snapped her head to face him again.“Hope there’s a gas station soon,” he expression stoic.“There is,” she stated, her voice taking on an unsettling tone. And I hope we get this over with quickly, she thought to herself, her body shivering at the thought.----------------------------Here they go again, the teen pulled her headphones tighter. Every trip it’s the same argument. I rather just stayed at home. She slumped further into the seat crossing her arms. Why did I get stuck with this family? Why did they even have kids if all they were going to do is fight? The perfect influence and example they are of why not to have kids. She rolled onto her shoulder, eyes staring into the forest as it passed by. Mesmerizing as it was she continued to lose focus on the outside world. Her eyes and ears were drawn back to the stimulation within the car.“Mommy, are you okay?” her brother called out.Great, now Mom’s attention is on us. She fixed her eyes on the outside world. A sensation tingled across her then disappeared.Great, she didn’t try to get my attention. Win for me.She glared through the window at the passing world. The leaves scattered across the ground fluttered in the wind. The darkness encroached on the road as they went further into the forest. She wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her knees up into her hoodie. She let out a deep breath, it condensed into a white fog as it drifted to the ceiling.“Mom, Dad? Can you turn on the heat?” she asked, rubbing her hands on her arms for warmth.“Why? It’s 90 degrees out,” the dad raised an eyebrow in the mirror.“It’s freezing in here,” her teeth chattered as the cold air inside the car nipped at her skin.“We’re looking for a place to stop for gas soon,” he gestured to the road. “I’ll cut off the AC until we get to a gas station.”She rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. “I guess that’s good enough,” she cracked the window. The warm breeze caught her hair, it whipped wildly catching her off guard. Her headphones slid back and down her hair. The seat cushion sent them flying forward as they bounced into the floor.She leaned down reaching into the dark floor. A rough scrape nudged her fingertips, she gritted her teeth at the feel. What is that? she thought. With a raised eyebrow, she pulled the object out from the dark. A thick, leather-bound notebook - it was scratched and dent all over, a sign of its frequent usage and age.She ran her fingers over the corner edge, pulling but the cover didn’t budge. She placed the notebook on her lap the spine down. Over the fore-edge was a four-digit combination lock. Why is this locked? She contemplated caressing the lock. This must be Mom’s journal, a smirk rose on her face.She began ticking the numbers with her finger. First, her mother’s birthday. Nothing. She continued with her father’s and brother’s, then her parent’s anniversary. Nothing. There’s no way she used my birthday. I’m nowhere close to her favorite. Her fingers began to tumble the numbers, and a grin popped up as she tumbled the last number. Nothing. Of course. The grin faded quickly, her pride had built up only to be shut down in an instant.“Hey, Mom?” she smirked a little. “What’s your favorite day of the year? Not including all of our birthdays or your anniversary,” she added quickly.“Well, honestly birthdays are my least favorite anyway. It’s so much hassle,” the mom waved her hand to the side. “I guess May 9th.”“Why May 9th?” the dad chimed in.“It’s my grandmother’s birthday. Rest her soul,” the mom placed a hand on her chest.“No, it isn’t. We did a memorial for her birthday this year. It was May 12th,” the dad furrowed an eyebrow.“Whatever,” the mom gritted her teeth and turned to face the window.It’s okay I’ll try both, her fingers itched to get into the journal. She remembered her great-grandmother’s memorial and it was on the 12th, but nothing.She tumbled 0-5-0-9. Bingo!------------------------------The book opened its heavy, leather-bound cover. The inside was filled cover to cover with writings. Dates were scattered throughout with various lengths of writing following them. Yep, definitely her journal, the teen thought.August 2, 1999""Finally on my own. Well close enough. I got all my stuff into my dorm room. My roommate doesn’t seem so bad. She’s very peppy, quite the contrast between us. I am so ready to get this chapter in my life started!""Wow, Mom has really been writing in this thing since college!, the teen smiled and nodded. Curiosity burning inside her, the teen turned to her mother. “Mom, can you tell me how you and Dad first met?” she asked, her gaze filled with interest.A smile tugged at the mother’s lips as she took her husband’s hand. “It was sophomore year,” she replied, nostalgia evident in her voice. “November 4th.” She continued to talk about it but the teen quickly tuned her out, flipping through the pages to find the entry.November 4, 2000""It was an amazing day! I met a guy at the quad! He knows one of the people in our study group. He came over and introduced himself and we could not take our eyes off each other. I giggled so much I feel so embarrassed. He probably won’t even remember me. But WOW the feeling I got!""Eww. Enough to make me barf, the teen held a hand over her mouth. Definitely skipping on the Mom and Dad early years. She skimmed through the section until she got to important dates that she could recall herself. Dad proposing, their wedding day - skipped a large chunk until after the honeymoon, her birthday, her brother’s birth, job changes, moving days, and deaths in the family.My Mom’s really an emotional person, she thought to herself. Everything she does to just be strong for us. The teen was curious if Mom was still as emotional as the younger version.May 12, 2023""The weight of the day’s events presses heavily on me. Grandmother’s memorial went well, but the emptiness in my heart persists. I wish Dylan could have been there to comfort me. He’s been my rock lately. Stephen, on the other hand, remains distant and emotionless. I fear he’s becoming aware of my feelings for Dylan, or maybe it’s just his normal mood swings. I can’t continue deceiving myself or my husband any longer. What happened the other day has left me torn, and I must make a decision before the stress consumes me entirely.""Wait, what? Who is Dylan?! The teen felt her heart race, grabbing at her own chest, ‘The other day’? What day? She began to flip back and skim the passages of the last few entries.May 9, 2023""My head is spinning. It actually happened. Me & Dylan! I don’t know what to do! Is this my fault? I mean I did come on to him. I mean how could I not, he was just so hot without his shirt. His chest, his abs. The way he picked me up and tossed me on the bed…""She quickly closed the cover before seeing another word on the page. What the hell, Mom!? She felt the heat in her cheeks. She cheated on Dad! Is she still cheating on Dad?! Her fingernails dug into her palms. She swiped open the book, eyes darting across the page, and skimming the entries for any mention of Dylan.May 27, 2023""Lately, I find myself growing increasingly restless within the confines of my own life. The weight of responsibilities as a wife and mother feel suffocating. Stephen is always distant, and I yearn for the passion we once had. Perhaps it’s just a phase, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something missing. It makes Dylan come to mind.""June 10, 2023""The distance between Stephen and me continues to grow. I try to reach out, but he seems disinterested. The kids provide some comfort, but even they feel like a reminder of the life I’m trapped in. I crave excitement, something beyond this mundane routine. Dylan helps lift me up, I’ve been seeing more of him lately just to feel alive again.""July 4, 2023""The 4th of July celebrations were supposed to be joyful, but I felt hollow inside. The fireworks illuminated the sky, yet I couldn’t help but feel like my life lacks any spark. There’s a part of me that longs for adventure, for someone who can ignite a flame within me again. Stephen and I have become more like roommates than partners. The more I am around Dylan the more alive I feel, he really helps me escape all the stress.""August 1, 2023""My heart races as I write these words. Tomorrow, I take a step towards a new life. I’ve met someone who makes me feel alive again - Dylan. He’s shown me a world of possibilities beyond my current reality. He doesn’t want to be a father, and I no longer wish to be a mother burdened by responsibilities. Together, we can start afresh, free from the constraints of our past. Tomorrow, I will burn this journal, symbolizing the end of one life and the beginning of another with Dylan. My heart aches for the fate of my family, but I must follow my heart’s true desire. Farewell, dear journal, and farewell to the life that was once mine.""“Dad!” The teen shrieked trying to keep her tone calm. Quickly shutting the book and placing it back on the floor. “Dad, Mom’s going to do something to us,” she began hysterically crying.“Honey, what are you talking about?” the dad tried to console her reaching back to put a hand on her knee.“Ask Mom about Dylan!” She demanded, “And their plan!”-----------------------------A few more miles and we’re exactly where we need to be, the wife felt her chest beating as she held on to her necklace. “We really need to stop for gas soon” she motioned to the gas indicator on the dash lights for her husband.“I see it. I think the gas station is coming up soon,” he gestured out the windshield. “This road has nothing on it. Hard to believe there is an open gas station way out here.”“Well, a good thing since we missed the on-ramp.” Just like I hoped, she added thinking with a small smile.“I wanted to stop before that but you insisted we make it a little further first. And then we missed the ramp.”“Again. I shouldn’t have to baby you and tell you everything,” she poked and antagonized him.“You’re giving the directions. I assumed there was another ramp coming if you didn’t say ‘This is the ramp’,” he scowled hitting the steering wheel.“Well, sorry for not being able to do everything and be everything for you!” she gripped the door handle trying to control her outburst.“Oh, come one. This again!” he shook his head and leaned on the door rest.“Dad!” came a shriek from the backseat. “Dad, Mom’s going to do something to us,” the teen continued.What is this little brat doing? The wife felt sweat building up on her face. She watched him try to console the daughter, everything around her was muted and numb. Her chest was bursting open she swore.“Dad, what’s wrong?” a tiny voice cried from the backseat.“Nothing, son. Everything is okay,” he reached back behind himself trying to console their son. “Give him your headphones,” he stated to their daughter. “He doesn’t need to hear this.”Great. Now I’m about to get a thousand questions while stuck in this car. One more mile I’m sure of it. She felt a bit of hope build.“I know,” he spoke with a stoic voice and expression. “I’ve known for a while.”I knew he had suspicions. “Knew what honey?” she tried to be as sincere as she could but hate for them all was strong inside her. “Dylan, he’s just a coworker.”“Stop lying to me and yourself!” he raised his voice and hand to his wife.“Oh, you try it! Put a hand on me and it’ll be the last thing you do,” she sat firmly in her seat. No matter what it’s about to be the last thing you do anyway, she screamed in her mind.“Well, that’s the plan. Isn’t it?” he looked her firmly in the eye, emotionless.-----------------------------The teen sat with her knees to her chest, her shirt was soaked from constantly flowing tears. Why can’t everything just go back to the way they were? She placed her head down on her knees and looked out the window watching the darkness swallow the trees and roadside.It was hard to tune out the ongoing argument between her parents now that she was without her headphones. She gathered Dad knew some about what was happening with Mom and Dylan. Maybe she took the journal too literally thinking that Mom would consider harming any of them.Dad doesn’t seem that concerned or upset about it. She caught sight of the gas station sign. Great, I need to get out of this car, fast.“Dad, Mom. The gas station. Can I get out, please?”“No,” they said simultaneously.“Sorry, I asked.” She mumbled.They pulled into the gas station. “Full-service. Great, I don’t even have to get out,” Dad said sarcastically.“It looks abandoned,” Mom added. A few moments passed and no one came out. “There’s a car here. Someone must be in there.”“I guess I’ll go check since I don’t do anything,” he muttered to her.“Shut up and stay here. I need to get out of this car anyway. You start pumping the gas,” she replied swinging the door open.“Yes, ma’am. Anything you wish.” He stated slamming the door as he got out.He started to pump the gas until she was in the building. As he opened the driver's door he looked into both children. “Hey, you too.” He pilfered in the door while he spoke. “I love you both. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”Why is he saying this now? Is it because of how freaked I was a moment ago? “I just want to get out of this car, Dad” she stated shakily.“It’s best you stay in here, okay.” He started to have a tear run down his face. “As I said, I’ll protect you from anyone.” He closed the door and started to walk toward the building.Where is he going? “Dad!” She called hurriedly. What is he doing?A few moments passed, What is taking them so long? When are we going to get out of here? This place is creepy. Thoughts continued to swirl adding the tension to her body.She looked over at the car sitting at the station alone. Its personalized license plate on the front was slightly covered by darkness.Squinting she started to make out the plate, D-Y-L-A-N. Panic set in and she leaned forward looking around to get her bearings. She looked down into the front seat. Did Dad leave his phone?She reached to grab the dark object in Dad’s seat. It was leather, oddly shaped. She sat back in her seat to examine it. Finally, in clear she recognized it - a pistol holster.She looked up and out the window. BANG! BANG!, was a short pause. BANG! Dad? She quickly rolled down the window. “Dad! Dad!” she yelled frantically.Then she heard it one last time, BANG!
","August 03, 2023 20:22","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Thrilling read!', 'time': '15:47 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ltgqgk,Midnight Seduction: The Black Stockings,J Rico,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ltgqgk/,/short-story/ltgqgk/,Dramatic,0,"['Romance', 'Adventure', 'Fantasy']",6 likes,"
Jake's weary eyes scanned the dark and desolate highway as he continued his long solo road trip across the country. The hum of the engine was his only companion, and the stars above provided a distant twinkle of solace. He had been driving for hours, seeking an escape from the monotony of his everyday life, but he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
 
As the night wore on, he spotted the glow of city lights on the horizon. Realizing that he needed a break from the road, he decided to stop for the night in this unfamiliar town. He pulled off the highway and followed the neon signs that led him to a small, unassuming bar with a name that caught his attention – ""Midnight Seduction.""
 
The moment Jake crossed the threshold, he was enveloped in the warmth of dim, amber lighting, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air. He took a seat at the bar, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves about stepping into this unknown territory.
 
It didn't take long for his eyes to be drawn to a captivating sight – a woman with an air of mystery sat on a barstool nearby. She exuded an aura of confidence and allure, and his gaze was immediately drawn to her beautiful pair of legs, covered with black stockings that seemed to accentuate her every movement.
 
She glanced in his direction, and their eyes locked in an intense gaze. Jake felt a magnetic connection, as if fate had brought them together in this moment. Her eyes promised nights of eternal passion, and he couldn't resist the urge to approach her.
 
Summoning his courage, he walked over and greeted her with a warm smile. ""Hello,"" he said, ""can I buy you a drink?""
 
The woman's lips curled into a seductive smile as she replied, ""A champagne, please.""
 
""And for me, a tequila, but make it the best one you have,"" Jake responded, feeling a surge of confidence in her presence.
 
The bartender prepared their drinks, and they sat side by side, the air charged with anticipation. As they sipped their beverages, they engaged in conversation that flowed effortlessly, as if they were old friends catching up after years apart. The woman introduced herself as Isabella, and her charm and wit had Jake utterly captivated.
 
In between laughter and stories, Jake couldn't help but be entranced by Isabella's eyes, which sparkled like stars in the night sky, revealing the desire hidden beneath her confident facade. The way her black stockings hugged her legs left him curious about the rest of her, igniting a burning desire to know more.
 
Feeling an unspoken connection, Jake leaned in and asked, ""Shall we dance?""
 
""Of course, why not?"" Isabella replied with a playful wink.
 
Their bodies moved in harmony to the sultry music, drawing them closer with every step. Jake felt his blood stir, awakening a dormant sense of adventure within him. The magnetic pull between them was undeniable, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
 
After a few enchanting songs, the crowd seemed to melt into the background, leaving only Jake and Isabella on the dance floor. In an impulsive moment, she pressed her soft lips against his, and an electrifying jolt surged through him, setting his heart ablaze.
 
Feeling an instant connection, they decided to continue their night of adventure outside the confines of the bar. Isabella's laughter was like a melody in the night as they explored the city together, sharing stories and dreams. The night felt like a lifetime, yet passed in the blink of an eye.
 
As dawn approached, their bodies exhausted but spirits unwilling to let go, they found themselves in a cheap hotel room. In the intimacy of that dimly lit space, the black stockings flew away, revealing their deepest desires. Their bodies entwined, and a sublime communion of passion and emotion enveloped them.
 
The hours slipped by, and in each other's arms, they found a solace that had eluded them both for so long. It was as if they had stumbled upon a connection that transcended time and space, and they were reluctant to let it go.
 
But with the arrival of morning light, reality started to creep in. Jake knew that his road trip must continue, and Isabella had her own journey to embark on. They exchanged lingering glances and soft goodbyes, knowing that their time together had been an unexpected gift.
 
As Jake hit the open road again, he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that now accompanied him. The black stockings Isabella had left behind became a cherished memento, a token of a night that had forever changed him. He found himself replaying their every interaction, reliving the enchantment of their encounter.
 
Days turned into weeks, and Jake couldn't forget Isabella. He felt a longing in his soul, a yearning for the woman who had touched him so deeply. The black stockings became a symbol of that ephemeral romance, a reminder that love could be found in unexpected places and that even a brief encounter could change the course of a person's life.
 
He continued his journey across the country, stopping at various places, but each stop felt incomplete without Isabella by his side. He couldn't escape the memory of their midnight seduction, the way she had kissed him under the moonlight, and how her laughter had filled his heart with joy.
 
Eventually, Jake found himself back in the town where he had met Isabella. He decided to visit ""Midnight Seduction"" one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once more. As he walked in, the bar was bustling with patrons, but among the crowd, he couldn't spot her familiar silhouette.
 
Disheartened, he took a seat at the same barstool he had occupied weeks ago. The bartender recognized him and gave him a knowing smile. ""Looking for someone, huh?""
 
Jake nodded, unable to hide his longing. ""Yeah, a woman named Isabella. We met here a while back.""
 
The bartender's eyes softened with sympathy. ""I remember her. She was something else, that one. She left quite an impression on this place.""
 
""Any idea where she went?"" Jake asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.
 
The bartender shook his head. ""Sorry, she didn't say anything. She just disappeared, like the night wind.""
 
Jake sighed, knowing that some encounters were meant to be fleeting, leaving an indelible mark on one's heart. He thanked the bartender and walked out of the bar, the weight of nostalgia heavy on his shoulders.
 
As he stood outside, gazing at the stars, he realized that Isabella had become a part of him. She had ignited a spark within him that he had never known existed, and her memory would forever remain etched in his heart.
 
With a bittersweet smile, Jake decided to continue his journey, knowing that he would always carry the memory of Isabella's midnight seduction with him. The road stretched before him, filled with uncertainties and adventures, but in that moment, he knew that he had been forever changed by a brief encounter under the spell of the night.
 
And so, he drove into the horizon, embracing the unknown, and holding onto the memory of the woman who had taken his soul with her, leaving him forever haunted by the magic of their midnight seduction.
","August 04, 2023 00:40",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ozf9ok,Five Stars,Sydney Crago,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ozf9ok/,/short-story/ozf9ok/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Romance', 'Sad']",6 likes,"
The woman closed the door of the black sedan and slung the leather purse off of her shoulder and onto her lap. 
 
The engine hummed as the driver moved the gear shift from park to drive. The automatic locks clicked as the wheels of the car inched away from the curb and entered into the flow of traffic. The eyes in the rearview mirror glanced back to her. “107 Pine Street, right?” He asked.
 
She nodded first, before realizing his focus had moved to the glow of the brake lights as the truck in front of them stopped for a red light. “Yes.” She blurted into the stale, artificial lemon scented air that hung between them. The driver nodded silently. She slid her phone out of her jean’s pocket and swiped its screen, opening the unread message.
 
On your way? It asked.
 
She tapped out her reply, In the Uber, be there in 10. 
 
Three dots appeared instantly, but vanished nearly as fast. Underneath her words, the screen displayed, Read 11:02.
 
She doesn’t recognize me, the driver thought as he stole another look in the mirror, taking in the woman in his back seat. She’d been in this car before, but it had been years now. He tried to think; was it the winter before last or the winter before that. Was it when he was living on the fourth floor of a building on the west side or the second floor apartment downtown? He closed his eyes, searching for the memory. The image of her climbing the wooden steps, the red ones he’d hate so much, swam into view. Fourth floor. West side. He was certain of it. He nodded to himself, like he was bobbing his head to nonexistent music. 
 
He could picture her in the apartment now, on the gray futon that has stuck around two years past its prime, until his mother insisted it had a smell. The man winced recalling the criticism. Had it smelled back when she had sat on it too? Had it ever smelled at all? There was no way to know, he supposed. 
 
The light turned green again, and he pushed the pedal, surging the car forward through late evening traffic of people leaving theaters, sporting events, bars, parties. 
 
Where had she been tonight? He wondered.
 
The woman’s fingers hovered over the phone screen; her eyes watched at the pictures flew by her, carrying her further and further back in time with every swipe. I know it’s here somewhere, she thought. 
 
Posed photos of her standing in front of the landmarks of London: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the ravens at the Tower. She saw herself on the beach in the Bahamas and paused for a moment, remembering how proud she was to be in a bikini, her arms lace behind the backs of her two best friends. A smile spread across her face. Then, she scrolled on: past the blurry photos of the Christmas tree she’d decorated and the scrunched face of her nephew mere hours old. Her search was interrupted by his voice.
 
“Did you want to listen to music?” He asked, as he piloted the car around a corner and hit the brakes. In front of them, a line of cars sat idling on the street, each one waiting for their turn to merge onto the highway. Please say yes, he thought. 
 
Lorde. That is her favorite artist, or at least, was her favorite artist. He could remember the way she mouthed the lyrics to the music as they sat together, the laptop perched half on her thigh, half on his, the glow of the screen lighting up their faces at two in the morning. He could practically still feel the heat of her pressed against him, the warmest he’d felt since the winter wind had found its way through the window frames at least a half-century old. “I can play something you like.”
 
“That’s okay,” she said in response, turning her attention back to the screen in her hand. She swiped it again, falling even further into the past. The woman could see the photo in her memory. There would be two people dressed as skeletons on her left, a couple that had long since parted ways. On her right, would be him, dressed as the lumberjack from the roll of paper towels. She’d thought it was such a funny costume that she’d asked the host for his number. He’d liked her Velma costume so much he agreed to the date, even though he had no idea what she looked like without the brown wig and fake glasses. 
 
Her phone chimed with an incoming text. She opened it. 
 
Everything okay? It read. 
 
She answered: Just stuck in traffic. She clicked back to the photos, ignoring the second chime as it came through.
 
“Sorry about the traffic,” he said to her from the front seat. “I didn’t think about the shows letting out down here.”
 
She shrugged without lifting her gaze. “It’s fine.”
 
He studied her in the mirror’s reflection. Her hair was shorter now, cut much closer to her chin than it had been then. Back then, she had worn in a thick braid that she looped around her head like a cartoon of a Dutch milkmaid. He’d watched her take it down one night and marveled at how long the strands were, running his fingers along its length as she laid in bed with him, pressed against his chest. The car behind him laid on its horn, pulling him from the memory. He let his foot off the break. The car coasted forward.
 
The woman looked up feeling the car move under her. She’d almost forgotten where she was: Stuck in traffic with him. She looked at the sidewalk and the people that filled it as the car picked up speed and made the turn on to the ramp. She looked back down at the phone in her lap. There he was. The man in the costume, wide smile across his face, a closely trimmed beard on his jawline, a shine in his eyes, eyes that she had stared into for hours. She looked from the photo to the rear view mirror. They were the same eyes, even in the dark, especially in the dark. She’d bet her next paycheck on it.
 
The car eased off of the highway, a mere two exits past where they had merged on. Say something to her, the voice in his head screamed. He glanced down at the phone in its stand, alerting him that there was only one more minute of their ride together. 
 
Wouldn’t she say something if she wanted to? Unless, she was thinking the same thing he was. Unless, she was wondering if he remembered her.
 
She could feel the faint prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes. She looked to the ceiling of the car and blinked fast, willing away the tears. It is him. Three years since she’d seen him, and yet, she was right back there, in the apartment where the mattress had laid directly in the floor, where the windows leaked winter air, where she’d spent a season huddled under the blankets with a man she fell for at first sight. She glanced at the GPS display on the phone, 500 feet. Only 500 more feet to say something. She sucked in a breath, feeling the lump in her throat growing with each millisecond that passed.
 
He slowed the car as the stop sign reflected the headlights’ glow. One more block, he thought. Just one more block. 
 
Why hasn’t he said something? Why did he take the ride? She shifted in her seat as he stopped the car.
 
What do I even say? He let off the brake and steered through the intersection.
 
What if this is my last chance? She watched him turn the wheel, pulling the car up to the curb.
 
Can I just let her go again? He steadied his breath, and put the car into park. “We’re here.” His voice cracked on the last syllable.
 
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hand hovering above the door’s handle.
 
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she shook her head, let her shoulders fall, and sighed. The next second, she popped the door open.
 
“I-“ he started to turn in his seat, but she closed the door with a thud behind her. He watched the woman hitch the purse on her shoulder as she darted to the apartment building’s front door. The night was dark, moonless, but the light shining through the opening cast her shadow on the pavement as she crossed the threshold. The building’s door closed behind her as he watched, willing her to come back outside, just as his phone pinged. His eyes flicked to the screen. 
 
The notification alerted him to a new ride rating: 5 stars.
 
","August 04, 2023 01:10","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Very moving, it held my interest. Well written.', 'time': '23:53 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Arthur McNamee': 'I was on the edge of my seat. Hoping that he would say something to her. Great story and I felt like I was actually there.', 'time': '03:27 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,fcorwl,Always Singing ,Amy Rogers,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fcorwl/,/short-story/fcorwl/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary']",5 likes,"
	The song played for what would be the third time. Something about the lyrics spoke to her current thought process or maybe it was where she felt she was in this part of her life. Whatever it was, she kept playing it and singing along with it. 
	Switching lanes to get around the eighteen wheeler that had suddenly slowed down in front of her, she paused in her singing. Wasn’t it John Mellencamp who had said something in one of his songs about living on the inbetweens of song lyrics? What song was it? She couldn’t remember. John Mellencamp. She had listened to his songs with her dad and her uncle as a kid. Maybe she could stop in his hometown at some point. She could go wherever she wanted. She felt a freedom that she had never known in her life before. Freedom and whatever it was about this song that spoke to her as she hit the button to play it for the fourth time. 
	A Dodge Charger in the fast lane seemed to be keeping the pace she wanted. She decided to keep up with them. Looking down at her fuel gauge, she thought it would be a good idea to stop for gas and food when she finally crossed into Ohio. The good river. Ohio. What is Ohio’s slogan? She couldn’t think of it. Then again, who really goes on and on about their trip to Ohio?
	When she had gotten in her car, around three hundred miles ago, she only knew she was ready to move on. Ready to start over. She started driving west and kept going. Not knowing what her destination would be. No hotel reserved. No friends or family she could visit. She could do whatever she wanted. Be whoever she wanted. She wanted to finally be herself.  Her kids were on their own and able to take care of themselves. There was no man whose standards would cause her to morph into a version of herself she would not be able to recognize. It was just her and all of her belongings stuffed into every possible area of cobalt blue Kia Forte and she was now, apparently, heading to Indiana.
	Her phone rang interrupting the song. The screen displayed the name Michael. She pushed the button to decline the call. Do people actually enjoy talking about politics all day? Never mind. Of course, there are people who do. Like Michael. Politics was all he ever talked about.
	What was the thing she talked about all the time that probably annoyed people? Music? Pop culture? Who cares? They could decline her call too if they didn’t want to hear it. It’s the reason the option exists. 
	She shook her head trying to change her thoughts to something more positive. That’s also why she didn’t like talking to Michael. He brought out the negativity. She shook her head again. Focus. The song was no longer fitting her mood. She used the button on her steering wheel to move to the next one. 
	It was two years ago when her mother passed away. Two years since her life was turned upside down. She had talked to her mom about how she wanted to get in her car and just drive until she found a new place. A new place that felt right for her. A new place to work toward new dreams and new goals. A new place to make friends. Real friends who would check in if she got quiet. Real friends who would understand her and love her despite all of her shortcomings. A new place. A new life. All of which would be exactly how she chose it to be and not because someone or some circumstance backed her into a corner and forced her to be there. It was time to live her life her way. Whatever time she may have left. She wanted to live.
	Her mother had encouraged her to chase after her dreams big and small. Her mother knew the stress she had been under for so long. The day she lost her mother was the day she lost the only person who was completely and unquestionably always in her corner. She was left to face it all alone. That was the song “Lonely Ol’ Night”. She had a recording somewhere of her mom singing that song. 
	“Welcome to Ohio” the sign read. “Find it here.” So, that was their slogan. Find it here? Find what? Not in Ohio. This was not it. This was not her new place.
	She moved over into the slow lane so that she could begin looking for food and a gas station. What did she want to eat? Maybe just a cheeseburger. Something she could eat while she continued to drive. So…McDonald’s? That was fine. She’d eat something better later. 
	She found an exit with a McDonald’s and exited the highway. After pumping her gas, she went through the drive thru at McDonald’s and ordered a cheeseburger, small fries, and a small Dr. Pepper. The employees barely acknowledged her as she went to each window. When did the world change so much? There used to be an emphasis on customer service everywhere. Now, it was hard to find good customer service. 
	She chuckled realizing she sounded like her mother. Her mother, the woman who would strike up a conversation with strangers and end up making a brand new friend. Her mother was one of a kind. She wondered what her mother would think of her finally doing what she said she wanted to do. Was her mom watching over her as she drove along? Was she cheering her on? She wanted to believe that because it was what she needed. Her phone was quiet. No one was calling or texting to check on her progress. They were all too busy with their lives. They couldn’t be what she needed. She couldn’t expect them to be. Since her mother passed away, she had to be what she needed. Her own cheerleader. Her own support system. So, it was easier to believe that her mom was still there watching and cheering in the distance. 	
	After placing the fries in the open cup holder and unwrapping the cheeseburger, she merged back onto the highway. An 80’s playlist was playing at a low volume. Indiana was just a couple of hours away.
	Singing along with the music kept her from becoming lost in her thoughts. Kept her focus on the road. Moving forward. Just the slightest pause would have her mind wandering through random trivia knowledge or have her recalling times gone by or what was to come. So, she just sang along. When “Sunglasses at Night” by Corey Hart started, she turned up the volume and began to dance in her seat. 
	To her right, she saw a sign that read “Seymour” before she knew she was there. It had a train at the front, music notes, a guitar, and a clock. There was more but she passed it before she could take it all in. She looked around at chain restaurants. Department stores. Corporate America at its finest. This couldn’t be the small town that John Mellencamp had sung about. Could it? 
	A sign told her that there was a visitor center coming up on the right. She made the turn. She drove for a short distance taking in what looked a little more like a small town until she saw it. She stopped in the middle of the road staring at it. Noticing that there was a public parking lot next to it, she pulled in and parked. 
	Her breath caught. She was crying. She was looking at a mural of John Mellencamp on the side of a building and she was crying. “I was born in a small town” was quoted on the mural. 
	She wasn’t born in a small town. She was born in the city. She had lived in suburbia all of her life. Why was she crying? 
	Memories of “Small Town” playing while her family was driving to the beach. The volume loud. Everyone was singing. Her dad. Her sister. Her mother. Vacations at the beach. Singing in the living room. Dancing around the house. Memories of her and her children singing along to different songs in a different time period.
	Now, it was just her, alone, in a Kia Forte. It was just her and the music. She didn’t know where she was going. Just west. Just a new place. She didn’t know what she was going to do or how she was going to make a living. She wanted... No. She needed her life to be her own. Finally, completely, and unquestionably her own. The uncertainty had gotten the better of her. 
	She sat in her car sobbing. No longer looking at the mural. Her head was buried in her arms which rested on the steering wheel. A knock at her driver’s side window startled her. There was an older gentleman with white hair looking at her with concern.
	She rolled down her window slightly. “Yes?”
	“Excuse me, ma’am,” The gentleman said. “I just noticed that you were crying. Then, I saw all your things in the car. So, I’m just wondering if you’re okay. Is there something I can do to help you in some way?”
	She wiped tears from her eyes and used her sleeve to wipe her nose. “Oh, uh, no, I guess I just needed to let that out.”
	He nodded. “I understand. There’s a diner not too far from here. If you’d like, we could grab a bite to eat and I’ll listen. If that’s what you need, I mean. I don’t mind. I’ve got nothing but time.”
	She smiled. “That’s really sweet but I…”
	“Are you sure?” He interrupted, pointing to her license plate. “Looks like you’ve been driving quite a distance. I’m sure you could use some rest. I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. Name’s Lee. What’s yours?”
	She stared back at him briefly thinking she didn’t know this guy. Maybe it wasn’t safe to give him her real name. Almost immediately, she felt angry at herself. No. She didn’t want to be anyone else. Not ever again. Besides, there was a reason her mother chose her name. It was meant to be a reminder. Every time she said it, wrote it, or saw it.
	“My name is Faith,” she told him.
	“Pleasure to meet you, Faith. Will you join me for some supper?”
	“Yes, thank you. I will.” She turned off the engine. Lee stepped back as she got out of the car.
	She shut the door and exhaled to calm herself. “Which way?”
	Lee gestured forward. “This way. Follow me.” 
	Taking in the mural and the small town of Seymour, Indiana once again, she smiled before walking up so that she was beside Lee, allowing him to lead her to whatever she would see next. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 05, 2023 00:36",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,ah47kt,Runaway and Skye (The Dimming... Part 2),Jo Boyle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ah47kt/,/short-story/ah47kt/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Lesbian']",5 likes,"
Sunday, 10 July, 203316:59When Skye pulled her Tesla into Springvale’s Botanical Cemetery, she expected she’d have to make a trek on foot through the gardens to Tyler Devereaux’s gravesite. But as she drew nearer to Tyler’s final resting place, she spotted Millie’s chestnut pigtails waiting for her on the curb of the narrow road. She pulled over, leaned across and flung the passenger door open. Millie dropped her pink backpack into the footwell and climbed in. Then she fidgeted in her lap.“Millie, honey, what are you doing out here alone in the freezing cold?”“I wanted to talk to Mama Tyler about something.”“Oh, honey, you’re ten years old. I’m sure your mum would’ve brought you here if you’d asked.”“But I didn’t want her to hear.”“Then you call me, kiddo. You don’t go venturing out on your own.”Millie looked at her with her big blue eyes. “You didn’t tell her I called you, did you?”Without giving a yay or a nay, Skye asked, “Whose phone did you use?”“There was a nice lady visiting her dad.”Skye reached into the back seat and retrieved a blanket, then spread it over Millie’s lap. “Okay. Let’s get you home and warm, devil-child.”As Skye pulled the car out of the cemetery onto the main road, Millie asked, “Skye, can you miss someone you never met?”“Do you miss your mama?” Skye stole a look at the glum young lady and caught sight of a nod. “Well then, there’s your answer.”“But how? My friend, Jilly, says I can’t. I never knew her, so I can’t miss her.”Skye slowed down with the traffic, then stopped at a set of red lights. “What are some things your Mama Tyler liked to do?”Millie twisted the cord of her jacket. Then she looked up and said, “I know she liked to paint. And she was a really good drawer.”“What else?”“Um… I know she was smart. She was an architect.”“I think she was probably very smart, just like her baby girl.” Millie grinned. Skye asked, “What else?”“I think she was kind. Mummy only likes kind people.”“That’s some spot-on reasoning, kiddo.”“She liked ice-cream. And chocolate. And funny movies. Oh, and books.”“What was her favourite ice-cream flavour?”Millie chuckled. “Mum says she liked rainbow Paddlepops.”Skye laughed. “I wonder what rainbow tastes like.”“Oh! Her favourite movie was Steel Magnolias.”“I love that movie!”“Me too! Maybe you and me and mum can watch it together. Tonight!”“We’ll see.” Skye gave the young girl’s knee a pat. “See? You do know your mama. Don’t let anyone ever tell you you can’t miss her, Millie. Your feelings are your own. If you miss your mama, then you miss her, plain and simple.”Millie turned her face away and murmured, “My mum misses her.”Skye said softly, “I know, honey. They loved each other very much.”“That’s why I wanted to talk to Mama today.”“Is it okay if I ask what you talked with her about?”Millie nodded. “I know she was smart, so I knew she would get it. And I know she was kind, so I knew she wouldn’t be mad.”“Mad about what, angel?”“About letting Mum love someone else.”Millie fell silent then, and stared out the passenger window at the tree-lined street whizzing by, with the lights of buildings growing bolder as the sun dipped below the skyline.Skye thought back to the day she and Lexi had met. Before that, they had communicated via video phone. Skye was a police officer stationed in Sydney, and involved in the investigation of the car crash that had so tragically taken Tyler’s life. That was July 2023, almost ten years ago to the day. Lexi and Skye had soon after met during one of Skye’s visits to Melbourne, and she remembered all too well how broken Lexi had still been over her partner’s death. Skye doubted she would ever feel as strongly for anyone, as Lexi obviously had for Tyler. As a result, Skye stopped falling into women’s beds, and focused solely on her career.As time went on the two women lost touch, but Skye had never forgotten about Lexi. In ’28, Skye successfully applied for the Victoria Police Critical Incident Response Team. She bought a house on a lake, and once settled into her new surrounds, reached out. Lexi had seemed genuinely pleased to hear from her, and a friendship had blossomed that for Skye would become something more. She had tried to ignore them, but her feelings grew. They were feelings she didn’t know were mutual, and she didn’t want to rob Lexi of anything else when the woman had already lost so much.Skye handed Millie the phone from the console and said, “Why don’t you call your mum? I’m sure she’s worried sick about you.”Millie turned the device in her small hands. “I think mum’s looking for another place for us to live.” The dear child dropped her chin to her chest.Skye said, “Are you sure, honey? She hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”Millie shrugged. “I don’t want to go. If we move, I can’t take my unicorns. Mama Tyler designed them for me.”Unnerved herself by the possibility, Skye downplayed her alarm. “I’m sure if Mum is thinking about moving, she has a very good reason.”“What if we move so far away that you can’t visit?”“Well, honey, you’d have to move a long, long way away for me to not come visit.”“Can I tell you something?”“Anything, kiddo.”“You have to promise not to tell her.”“Well now, that depends.”“Please, Skye.”Skye merged into a right-turning lane, and stopped on the demand of the red arrow. “Okay, I promise. What is it?”“When you visit us, Mum smiles and laughs more than she ever does with anyone else. But when you leave, she goes quiet. And then I think she gets sad.”Skye swallowed a lump. “Millie, honey—”“I think she wants to be happy, but I think she’s scared it will make Mama Tyler unhappy. So I wanted to ask Mama Tyler if that was true: if my mum being happy would make her sad.”“What do you think her answer was?”“I think Mama Tyler loved my mum so much, that she would never, ever want to see her be sad.”Millie’s concern - that one of her mums might not let go - had played on Skye’s mind as well. Skye said, “Do you remember the first Summer your mum brought you to my house on the lake?” Millie nodded. “Do you remember the paddle boats?”Millie’s mouth opened wide. “Yes!” She added matter-of-factly, “I had very much fun.”“Do you remember how we took you to those boats every day?”“I was scared at first.”“You were scared. But every day we walked you down to the water and asked if you wanted to give it a try. You saw the fun the other kids were having, and you knew we were going to be right there with you. And so, on the fifth day, you finally said yes.”“I sat between you and Mum.”“And you splashed us every chance you got.”Millie giggled. “I wasn’t scared anymore.”“No, you weren’t scared anymore. You were very brave. Your mum didn’t take you out on that boat until you decided you were ready. She knew that eventually you would be, in your own time.” Skye didn’t know if Millie would understand, but she could see the cogs turning behind those intelligent eyes.Millie surprised her then. “But I wouldn’t ever have done it if I didn’t know I was allowed. Mum had to tell me it was okay first.”Skye thought on it. And then she was dumbstruck. She couldn’t know if Millie had realised what she’d said, but out of the mouths of babes had come a simple truth that had somehow wiggled out of Skye’s line-of-sight. “You know what, kiddo? Your mama Tyler would be very impressed with your brain. But there is something you need to remember. Whatever your mum decides, it isn’t just for her. It’s for both of you. She has to do what she thinks is best for you, Millie. You’re her number one priority. You know what that means, right?”“She’s my number one pri-om… pri-lom… pri-bobbity, as well.”Skye curbed a chuckle. “Oh, honey, I can see that. Perhaps you should tell her when I get you home. In the meantime…” Skye reached across and gave Millie’s hand a squeeze. Then she said, “Jukebox, please play The Unicorn Song by The Irish Rovers.”The delightful tune started to play, Skye tweaked the volume, and Millie squealed with glee.***It was after six and dark when Skye pulled the car up at the house. The front door burst open, and Lexi came rushing down the footpath with a puffer jacket in hand. Her long dark hair was tied back, but her dishevelled fringe hinted at a ruffled psyche. Millie climbed out, and Lexi threw the garment over the little runaway’s shoulders. Then she bobbed and took Millie in her arms.“Millie Banks-Devereaux, don’t you ever, ever disappear like that again.”“I’m sorry, Mummy.”Skye retrieved the backpack from the footwell, then climbed out of the car and circled to the two ladies.Lexi glanced up at her while she cupped Millie’s puffy cheeks. “Where have you been, young lady?”“With Mama.”“And how did you get to Mama?”“I… I stole the card from your purse. I caught the bus.”“Oh my g… why? Why would you do that? You know if you want to go visit your mama, I will take you any time. I’ll always take you.”“I know, Mummy. I’m sorry.”Lexi’s head lolled, losing Skye the sight of a profuse worry. After a few moments she raised it again, and revealed a restraint that probably, at least, convinced Millie. “How much was the bus fare?”Millie fished in her pocket and handed Lexi the card. “Fifty-two dollars.”Lexi took it and said, “You’re going to have to work it off with chores. You know that.”“Yes, Mummy.”Lexi wiped her own pale cheek. “Go on, inside with you, scallywag. And wash your hands, okay? I’m about to serve dinner.”“Mummy?”“Yes, Millie.”“You’re my priority.” Millie threw her arms around Lexi’s neck. “I love you, Mummy.”Lexi hugged her tight and sobbed, “I love you too, baby.”Then Millie turned and hugged Skye’s midriff. She muffled into Skye’s belly, “I love you, Skye.”Skye leaned over and kissed the young lady’s crown. “I love you too, kiddo. Now go on, do as your mother says. I’ll stop by someday soon for that movie you promised me.”Millie smiled, relieved Skye of the backpack, then ran inside.With her arms across her chest, Lexi stepped close. “Thank you so much for picking her up. And for calling me. I was so worried.”“I cancelled the police report.”“Thank you. I just… I don’t understand. She’s never done anything like this before.”Skye touched Lexi’s elbow. “Hey. She’s okay, I promise you.”“Did she tell you what was so urgent that she couldn’t wait for me to run her out there?”“I think… I think ultimately it comes down to a little girl wanting both her mums to be happy.”“I don’t… I’m not sure I understand.”Skye looked over Lexi’s shoulder to the modest three-bed red-brick, a house that had felt more like a home to her than her own sprawling lakeside manor. “Is it true you’re thinking about moving?”“Well, the idea is only new. I… I hadn’t thought about it seriously. And it’s not that I particularly want to. Did she talk about that?”“She’s worried she can’t take her unicorns. But I think it’s more than that. I think… I think she thinks you’re running away.”“Running away? From what, exactly?”“I think… I think she thinks you’re running away from me.”Lexi’s jaw set. Then her eyes fell. She unfolded her arms and shoved her hands in the back of her jeans. “Why on earth would she think that?”Skye whispered, “Do you want me to answer honestly?”Lexi again crossed her arms in front, looking more nervous than a lemming on a cliff’s edge. “I wish you would.”Skye’s own anxiety was particularly robust when she replied, “I think Millie knows I love you.” Lexi’s expression didn’t change. But there was more emotion in those eyes than could be contained. Skye murmured, “I’m not telling you because I expect anything from you. It’s just… it’s the simple truth. And I really didn’t want to walk away from you one more day, without telling it. When I’m with you, everything feels right. And when I’m not, it just… it just doesn’t. I love you, Lexi, and I love your daughter, and if you don’t feel the same way about me, I still want us to be friends. I don’t want to take anything away from you. Ever.”Lexi said nothing. She just stared with those unblinking eyes.Skye steeled her bottom lip. “I should… I should go. I’m sorry, Lexi.” Skye turned with every intention of rushing to her car and not looking back.A little voice cried, “Skye! Skye, wait!” Skye slowly faced them.Lexi quickly wiped her cheeks, then lifted Millie into her arms. “What is it, noisy girl?”“I found Steel Magnolias. Can Skye stay and watch it with us?”Skye said, “Another time, kiddo. I… I have some work waiting for me.”Lexi lowered Millie to the ground and said, “Stay. I haven’t had a good dose of Ouiser sarcasm for as long as I can remember.”“Oh, no. I couldn’t. You guys are about to have dinner, and I really—”Millie interrupted. “Mummy, are we really moving?”Lexi smoothed her daughter’s hair. “I think we should stay, don’t you?”Millie hissed, “Yes.”Lexi looked to Skye and said, “Stay. I made lasagne. From scratch.”Millie squealed, “Yes!”Lexi offered timidly, “There’s plenty to go around. There’s even enough for seconds if you’re hungry. And I think… I think there might be some wine in the cupboard.” Skye was as bereft of word as Lexi had seemed only moments before. Lexi came close and reached low for Skye’s hand. She whispered, “Stay. Please. Maybe later I’ll get around to showing you how I feel.”Skye had no intention of further denying the request. Millie took Skye’s free hand, and together the three of them left the cold of the night, for the warmth of a home.
","August 02, 2023 19:33",[]
prompt_0035,Set your entire story in a car.,17ok9j,Char & Lisa,Sarafina Hamer,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/17ok9j/,/short-story/17ok9j/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Creative Nonfiction']",5 likes,"
(This story contains themes of substance abuse, mental health and self harm.)
 
 
 
 
	This is one of those favors that I always regret committing to. If she wasn’t such an asshole she’d have more friends to mooch off of. Spread it out a little. Finally a middle finger pushes threw some dingy curtains from the porch window after a hard lean on the horn. She’s up. 
 
	She takes forever. Not just, let me get a quick look at myself before I run out to be on time for the person who’s been patiently waiting for me for 30 minutes. I imagine it’s more of Mmm This brownie sure does taste good, hmm I wonder what my high school history teacher is doing, and why are flowers purple but not trees…oh yea Charlotte is waiting for me.
 
	As soon as she steps out the door I recognize it. That little… 
 
	“Whatcha know!?”, she yells with a grin while silmultaneously hurling it into the backseat along with another bag. 
 
		“I KNOW that’s my jacket, Lisa.” 
 
	She looks back at it confused, like she didn’t just have it on. “That was a gift.” 
 
	“Your favorite thing to do in the world is to lie isn’t it??”
 
		“And nice to see you too, Char! Can we at least get to Beaver Brook before I get one of your famous lectures pwetty peease.” Her hands were clasped together and everything. I should backhand her.
 
		She’s lucky I need this money right now. Not that I’m entirely sure she’ll pay up. But one thing about Lisa, two things for sure, she’ll find a way to get what she needs and I have no problem accepting unscrupulous payments. 
 
	“You still seeing that guy?”, she asks while arching her back and digging in her pockets to find a cigarette. “The married one, what’s his na…”
 
	“No.”
 
	“Good. God he was ugly.”
 
	That’s funny because she’s always said ugly men make the best boyfriends. Even though I think she meant “targets”. She was every man’s ideal; slim and blonde. Of course she’d be picky. I got my hair cut into a short, brown, Dick Van Dyke looking thing when I was in 8th grade and it just seemed to grow in variations of that the rest of my life. So I wouldn’t say I have my pick of the litter. 
 
	“Listen, after this I can’t give you a ride anymore,” I say in the meanest tone I can muster so she knows I mean it this time.
 
	She finishes lighting her cigarette, then looks straight ahead. “Won’t be needing it. Ya girl done growed up and got a real job. No more cleaning fish. Plus this new gig is gonna pay more, I’m gonna get to travel some. I’ll be coming to visit you and picking you up now.” 
 
 I hope not. “What is this? Did you talk to Lolita about moving out of Belmont?”
 
	Just saying her name stirs up a lot of memories that would send me right back there again if I thought about them long enough. But she was a safe haven in a complete hell hole for us. Yet, have Lisa tell it, it was a two-week stay at grandmas but in reality it was a two-year stay in a psychiatric ward for two of Belmont, Massachusetts’s best and brightest.  
 
	“We’re out of the looney bin girl. We don’t need to check in or on nobody.” That’s not what the out-patient program says but cool.
 
	“Remember that park over there,” I point it out to distract her because we’re passing her favorite breakfast spot and I don’t need her begging me to stop. 
 
	“I remember nothing after 10th grade,” she says with the cigarette pressed in the corner of her mouth. “Why are you going down Lexington? Take Concord, it’s quicker. Then we can get on the freeway. So sick of this place. And there’s no way you’re not too, miss look at me I’m all reformed now.”
 
	She would pull that card. 
 
	“Who said I was reformed!? Just because I’m not still hanging out all night and putting God knows what up my nose doesn’t mean I’m a Saint!”
 
	 I slap the radio on. The weight by The Band starts playing. I used to fantasize about dating their guitarist and singing lead for them. My dad’s Pontiac is on it’s last leg but the radio is in perfect condition, thank God. One of my greatest accomplishments is never letting Lisa convince me to steal this beauty to go joyriding, which definitely would’ve ended in one of us wrecking it.  
 
	She had the run of our High school up until Junior year when she got expelled for making Cynthia Clark eat moldy bread. We weren’t nearly a gang but the way the neighborhood parents talked about us after that, you couldn’t tell the difference. Lisa loved it. Shit, we all did. She never told me what landed her in the “looney bin”. Two months in I’m eating breakfast in the dining hall and I look up to see a ball of greasy, dry, blonde hair buried in a bowl of corn flakes two seats down from me. I suspect it had something to do with the hangover from our teenage years. 1967 was a trip.
 
	“I don’t put shit up my nose anymore. I know that’s hard to believe, Ms. Reformed,” she says never taking her eyes off the road in front of us.
 
	It is hard to believe. No one just walks away from all that power. One by one we all fell in line with what Lisa thought was cool at the time. Skipping school freshman year. Sneaking out to go to random bars Sophomore year. Selling LSD out of our lockers Junior year. Senior year sleeping with married men so we can support our newfound LSD habit. If it wasn’t for her I’d be studying music at UMass right now. Not working at a desk job at my dad’s law firm while trying to evade questions from reporters inquiring about that lawyer’s daughter who tried to off herself. 
 
	“You know what, maybe I am reformed! You act as if it’s a bad thing. Yes. You’re right, I’m tired of this place but mainly because I’m reminded everyday of the mistakes I made when I was under your spell!”
 
	We’re starting to get close to our exit so letting loose like this feels appropriate, I’ll be leaving her with something to think about. 
 
	“Get in the right lane,” she says.
 
	“But we’re getting off h-”
 
	“I’m not going to Beaver Brook. Pull off up at the Shell.”
 
	This wouldn’t be an outing with Lisa without a detour. 
 
	She gets out and waves at a blue Volkswagen van. A skinny dude sitting in the drivers seat with a muscle tee on waves back at her. She motions for me to roll down the window. 
 
	“What do you want me to say. I fucked up. I am fucked up. I’m sorry if I took you down with me. Ok?”, she looks over at the van. “Im joining a band. I know you’re the real musician between us but I figure I could be more of the road manager, and Steve over there says they need another vocalist.”
 
	What do you know. She actually does have a new job.
 
	I can’t help but humor her for a second.“You wanna start a new gang, huh?”
 
	She shrugs. I reach in the backseat to grab the jacket and bag of clothes and hop out.
 
	“I’d love to, Lisa, but some of us have responsibilities.” 
 
	Reaching out my arms, I offer up probably her only possessions.
 
	“Keep the jacket,” she says with a smile.
 
	“Wow thanks so much!” I say sarcastically as possible.
 
	I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Who knows where she’s gonna end up. And running away to join a band is so cliche and desperate.
 
	The trip back always seems longer. At least I got my jacket back. The patchwork looks the same but there’s some colors in it that weren’t there before. Maybe she got bleach on it. And of course there’s trash in the pockets and a letter no doubt from her a man she dropped.
 
 Dear Lisa,
 
 Don’t let your past define you. You’re not your mistakes. I hear you’re going to be touring around New York? Those folks can be pretty stylish. Hope this coat helps you blend right in.
 
 - Lolita.
 
 
","August 05, 2023 03:23",[]