Wrong Turn in the Mist

The amber pillars held weakly in the mist. My baby blazed through the lonely streets. The fast approach of dawn did little to hinder my spirits. Oh, just a few miles lay ahead. My prize postured next to me, blitzed from a night that would now remain young deep into the morning.

“Nearly there, hon. Not far n–“

The sick thump was only bested by a pounding in my chest. Rose’s pale green eyes opened wide.

The engine never stopped. Soon we were but a speck on the horizon.

“She’s fine, Paul! Barely grazed, I’d say.”

“Agreed. Nothing to concern us.”

And so it was.

We raced ahead.

The neon lights of ‘Orton Inn’ brought us to a halt. The relief was only momentary. For the sleepy innkeeper rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

It was only the steady drip of blood that broke the stony silence.