Instead of making the guy even madder—and perhaps getting him to leave the truck and join in a little dust-up between the two of us—his face fell, as if I’d accused him of something truly horrible, worse than nearly running me down.

“Kill your dog? What a thing to say.  Buddy, I didn’t kill your dog.  Just watch where you’re going, that’s all.”

Insulted, he rolled his window up, effectively ending the conversation.  Slowly pulling away, he gave me one stark look in his side mirror.  I saw him shaking his head as he dwindled into the distance.

Then, all the adrenaline hit, and I tried to sit there on the side of the road facing the field, but I more fell than sat.  I could feel the gravel beneath me, the beer swirling in my blood.  My heart began to race and cold sweat leapt from my pores.  I swallowed and swallowed but my mouth was dry.

He’d been here…I knew it…I saw him so clearly, so distinctly.  He wasn’t a dark shape as he’d been at first or a blur as he raced the car a few days earlier.

He’d been here and he wanted…

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)