I sit at the light, singing at the top of my lungs—top down in my just washed, red mustang convertible. Looking to the left I smile at the driver. It’s a beautiful warm day; perfect for cruising. The sunshine warms my cheeks as only the Californian sun can. Eyes pressed close as I feel the rejuvenation take place—this moment, so sweet, so intoxicating, so brilliant.
I’m flying across the intersection. My hands holding my neck— keeping it from snapping back – I brace myself. ‘Oh God, what the hell,’ I think as the car spins once, twice, three times. Somehow I manage to pull the car over to the right. It’s really just a blur. Getting out I hear crying, I’m looking at my car: mangled, twisted, and abused. The driver I smiled at is helping me to the curb. My words can’t come out, they are so angry but they won’t come out. All I hear is crying. Looking down I see my leg is cut. Blood is running down my bruised skin. The cries are mine.
©Jeannie Hart
About the Author
Jeannie Hart is a published writer, who works in diverse fields of the industry. She has had pieces published through local and national websites, indie papers, and magazines.Currently Jeannie is revising her next novel ‘Road to Revolution’. And is in the process of drafting ‘Chicago is Dead’.
Ray Bradbury sums up her current writing situation nicely, "quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you're doomed."
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