He and his tailor-made suit walked into a dealership in Scottsdale and drove away in a brand new Ferarri, candy apple red. It can go 220 mph, the dealer told him.
Today he is stuck on the 202. To his right, an ’03 Ford Fiesta leads him by a nose.
Virgil Mathes is an avid fiction writer whose taste runs to the short and the long, bouncing between flash fiction and novellas. He also dabbles in poetic forms such as free verse and haiku. See more of his work at virgilmathes.com
Donna barely had time to react as the oncoming car turned left, cutting across her path. Her foot slammed against the brake, sending everything loose in her car flying forward. The other driver never looked her way. Grumbling, she continued on.
She died three seconds later, broadsided by an SUV.
Michele Kijeski is a liberal arts student who loves to write in her spare time. She is kept marginally sane by her husband and their six cats.
My legs were jelly, heart pounding in my ears.
A car roared as a cyclist swerved, cutting off my exit. Everything stopped. A dead unison.
Then: phew! I was still alive. I released the harness, my fingers red and cramped. The guide dog traffic training was over. Good girl, Ellie!
Amy is a twenty-something Braille student who loves 80s movies, tea with honey, and odd socks. She lives with her guide dog, Ellie, who eats squeaky balls for dinner or breakfast. She blogs at blind-style.com and tweets as @braillesnail.
Darla’s commute was awful: it took two hours to get from her downtown apartment to the wastelands, where she hunted the secret dragons.
Her friends thought she was a paralegal. They might ask uncomfortable questions if she moved to the suburbs, and it was already hard enough hiding the scars.
“I really hate traffic,” complained Gary. “Why do things always get so congested and chaotic?”
“What we need is a new system,” said Gordon. “New leadership.”
“Well,” said Gary, “it might as well be me.”
Gary pressed forward and took the lead of the flock’s migratory Vee formation.