Don't Look Back By Brandi G.
Tires screeched as he swerved and cursed in a foreign tongue to miss the girl who drunkenly stumbled into the middle of street in the dead of night. A loud thump hit the side of his car and he grasped the steering wheel in wide eyed panic. His adrenaline pumped. He looked in his rear view mirror and checked for a body. Nothing. Shaking all over, he grabbed the door handle and slowly made his way around the white car.
Sitting on the sidewalk, sobbing, was a young woman with pale blonde hair, and even paler skin. Her eyes and cheeks stained black from dirt and her clothes ragged. She cradled a tire iron. Seeing her alive, his heart slowed down a notch, but not by much.
"Didn't you see me?" she whispered hoarsely.
"No, I didn't. I'm very sorry. Are you hurt?" he approached carefully. Slowly.
She sniffed and rubbed her nose across the sleeve of her sweater. "I am not hurt. I hit your car with this," she waved the tire iron in the air." He looked back at his car and sighed at the gash along the side. "You should really slow down, mister. I don't see where the fire is," she frowned at him.
"There was no fire. I was just trying to meet my friends for Christmas dinner tonight at the sushi bar, but I don't see that happening now." He ran his hands over his face. "Are you sure you are okay? Do you need a ride to a hospital?" he looked at her bloodshot eyes, pupils dilated and glossed over. "Are you high?" he asked, leaning in to look closer at her face.
She snorted.
"I could really use a waffle right about now. You nearly killed me. And a waffle flashed through my mind."
She started laughing. Her breath wafted from her to him, causing him to grimace.
"You could really use some mouthwash," he leaned away from her.
"Well, you try living on the streets Mr. Fast-car-driving-man and see how often mouthwash appears!"
"Well, obviously, drugs appear frequently."
"That they do," she stood up and dusted off her tattered jeans. "Oh! Look! There's an emu on your car! Fucking a mongoose! Hot!" she giggled and twirled in circles as the snow begin lightly fall around her. He turned around quickly to look at what she was talking about and saw nothing but flashing Christmas lights flickering on and off making a reflection on his car.
She stumbled and fell down. "Fuck!" she cried out.
"Please, let me take you to a hospital, or a shelter. Its beginning to snow and you do not need to be in this weather right now all fucked up." His brown eyes softened as he helped to steady her on her feet.
"Why would I want to get in the car with the man who just tried to kill me? You could stab me in the neck with a pen! Or tie me to a tree and leave me there to rot! You probably listen to Christian music played from a calliope, huh?" she said spitefully, her finger digging in his chest.
He groaned, "First off, I don't have a pen to stab you with and I don't want to get any blood in my car. There is already damage done to my baby. Secondly, I don't have any rope to tie you to a tree. And lastly, what the fuck is a calliope?"
She sighed this time, "Well then, I guess since you are retarded, you won't rape me?"
He gave a very disinterested grunt. "No, I won't."
"Fine. You can take me to the shelter on Hollybrook and Dellwood," she leaned over and picked up her bag, slowly get into the car.
They sat in silence as he drove, an foul smell hitting his nose.
"Okay, what the fuck is that smell?"
"Oh. That? That's feta cheese. It's in my bag." She stroked the bag sitting in her lap.
"It's horrible," he gagged, cracking the window.
"Well, I got the munchies," she fussed.
"But you haven't ate it yet," he pointed out.
"Nope. I was stealing it from the pizzeria and running when you hit me with you car," she smiled.
He looked over to reprimand her, but she was gone. Suddenly, the car radio turned to a Christian radio station and "Ava Maria" was blaring through the speakers. He skidded to a stop and looked behind him. She was gone. All that remained were the foul stench of her breath and the bag of feta cheese. He leaned over and pulled the door open and threw the cheese out. Looking up, flashing, was a sign for a twenty-four hour Waffle Shop. Freaking out, he slammed the door, and popped the car in first gear. Never looking back.
This story was written in response to the December 2010 Writing Contest on The Muses Within Forum. Brandi's story was chosen as the winner. Congratulations, Brandi!!
The requirements for the story were: