I was leaving the day behind, but not our tail.
In my peripheral vision lay the gun I had feared I would need but knew would be useless.
In the rearview I could see my baby son, blissfully and ignorantly asleep. As would always be the case where this incident and I, especially, were concerned.
I thought again about switching off my lights once night fell, of going off-road. And again wondered why I harboured hope.
For the two hours they had been following me I had known running was futile. Once in sight I could feel their presence, just as they could mine; and, with their amplification technique, they were too powerful now.
And my son too important. His father killed with no explanation, I had run.
Yet all I was doing was driving until the fuel ran out, spending as much time with the boy as I could.
We sung for a hundred miles, ate crumpets in a frozen, remote, layby - now I would watch him sleep with the time and distance left to me, switching on the interior light once night fell.
With the car’s momentum lost, I got out and fired shots to make me feel better, the bullets forced from their targets.
As I knelt and waited, I contemplated the red and white tableau to be created and how my son would one day connect these colours with this time of year but in very different ways; and for that, at least, I was pleased.
Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture prompt (there was actually a choice of three...). Well done to the winner and and runner-up!
In my peripheral vision lay the gun I had feared I would need but knew would be useless.
In the rearview I could see my baby son, blissfully and ignorantly asleep. As would always be the case where this incident and I, especially, were concerned.
I thought again about switching off my lights once night fell, of going off-road. And again wondered why I harboured hope.
For the two hours they had been following me I had known running was futile. Once in sight I could feel their presence, just as they could mine; and, with their amplification technique, they were too powerful now.
And my son too important. His father killed with no explanation, I had run.
Yet all I was doing was driving until the fuel ran out, spending as much time with the boy as I could.
We sung for a hundred miles, ate crumpets in a frozen, remote, layby - now I would watch him sleep with the time and distance left to me, switching on the interior light once night fell.
With the car’s momentum lost, I got out and fired shots to make me feel better, the bullets forced from their targets.
As I knelt and waited, I contemplated the red and white tableau to be created and how my son would one day connect these colours with this time of year but in very different ways; and for that, at least, I was pleased.
Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture prompt (there was actually a choice of three...). Well done to the winner and and runner-up!
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