I received an email earlier this week asking writers to submit a 100 word continuation after the first 100 word story starter provided. Here’s mine:
It’s only ten minutes later that she’s flying down the highway, rain coming out of the dark straight towards her. There’s that creamy scoop of moon, somehow definitively clear in the corner of the windshield, staying there, statically, even as she rips another sudden swerve. If only the radio worked. If only those noises would stop coming from the boot. That damn voice. There’s another factory up ahead, abandoned but still lit up strangely. It’s nearly too late when she sees the group, huddled in the middle of the road, all their eyes turned towards her. She jams the pedal.
The wheels scream into the night, cutting the dense silence and bleeding onto the bitumen. Long black lines mark out in burnt rubber, the stench overwhelming, disgusting. Still fixated within the glare of the headlights, the huddled group stands metres before the bonnet. Light tendrils of steam snake into the cold air as raindrops quench the tyre marks. She chances a glance at the corner of the windscreen where she knows, even before she sees, the moon still hung, taped onto the glass. Silence from the boot. Her composure creeps back slowly, ushered by the rhythmical squeaks of the wipers.