At the beginning of last week, I began the feed to a new collaborative short story effort and then handed it over to you readers to add whatever you liked. So far, we’ve had some great additions!
Below, I’ve edited together all that’s been written and hope you readers will continue to add to the story. Here goes….
It was a balmy July night. Cooler than the last few, but the thermometer still read 78 degrees at nine. Becky smiled at the driver who parked the 1950s Chevy pick-up truck high on a bluff, overlooking the city lights below. Then, turning away from him, her ponytail making a flicking motion in the air, she took in the view before her.
It went on endlessly. Despite the lateness of the hour, the full moon cast enough light for Becky to note how there were no mountains to block her view, well…not mountains to most people’s standards. But the residents of Missouri embraced their hills, manifesting them to mighty mountains in their imaginations.
Becky blinked, as if breaking a trance, before pulling the door handle and getting out of the vehicle. A gentle breeze kissed the lower half of her calves, made bare by her rolled up blue jeans. It felt good against the cashmere sweater that hugged her curves.
She walked to the front of the truck, aware that the driver’s eyes never left her, and then climbed atop the hood of the car. Scootching herself back, Becky leaned against the windshield.
She was finally free. Free of her abusive boyfriend, free of her crappy job and free of her debts. Everything she owned was in the small tweed suitcase in the cab of the truck. Becky was tired, but still too wired to sleep, so she sat there on the hood of the sun-faded red pickup, thinking about what tomorrow might bring.
What would tomorrow bring?
Becky stared at the stars, daydreaming, wondering and hoping for a new day.
She didn't know how on earth it could have happened, but she fell asleep there on the hood of the old truck. Exhaustion was the best answer, of course.
She was surprised when she woke up and saw a meteor shower overhead and noticed that her neck hurt from the angle of the windshield. Becky climbed off the truck and into the cab. Locking the door and lying down on the seat, she fell back into a fitful slumber.
Becky’s head was laid in the driver's lap, who wrapped a protective arm around her. She stirred, brought slightly out of her sleep by the pressure of his arm. When Becky felt him stroke her hair lovingly, she half smiled and mumbled, "Thank you," before falling back asleep, content that she was now safe. That this man would allow no more harm to befall her.
In her dreams, Becky relived what had happened. How earlier that night, her boyfriend had flown into a rage, one of many he was prone to, and had threatened to kill her. Other times, Becky had been overwhelmed by the beatings she took from her boyfriend. But this time, she'd been truly frightened. As she tried to block the blows from her boyfriend, she seriously wondered if he might make good on his promise to kill her.
Then, like her personal guardian angel, Clyde had appeared in the apartment. He later told Becky that he'd stopped by for a visit, but once at the door, overheard the commotion inside. He explained how, when he'd heard Becky's strained voice cry out, "No! No more!" he'd forced his way in.
The rest was a blur to Becky. One minute she was her boyfriend's punching bag, the next, she was broken free of him, placed off to the side in a protective gesture and then watched as Clyde knocked some sense into her assailant. By the time it was over, Becky's boyfriend was on the ground, rolled in a ball on his side, moaning and holding his nose, from which blood poured freely.
Clyde came to where Becky was and helped her gather a few belongings into her tweed bag. "You won't be back," he said.
Becky didn't respond, least not with words. Instead, she allowed herself to lean heavily against Clyde and be escorted from the apartment, never to return.
So, where will you readers take the story this week?
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