This is a story I wrote in class today based on the prompt the teacher gave us. She asked us to reach inside a big bag, and write about whatever you pulled out. I pulled out a pink baby bootie and it reminded me of a real life incident that happened to me maybe 20 years ago. What I'm saying is , this story is mostly true.
Please tell me what you think. I have been writing daily for 2 1/2 weeks now and have had NO FEEDBACK. It's torture.
As they slowly inched around the curve she turned to her husband and mentioned, again, how much she hated the fog. She especially hated driving in the fog. It was like driving with a blanket over your head. Anything could happen in the fog.
She had a lot of confidence in her husband’s driving ability. She had a lot of confidence in her husband, period. He was good at everything. As they made their way through the early morning haze, her mind wandered up and down the list of things he was good at, happened upon a particular memory, and smiled to herself.
Out her passenger window, she could see some papers floating by. Quite a few of them. As they continued on, a bag, plaid with handles, lay on the side of the road. Next, a pillow. Then, a blanket.
She mentioned all this debris to her husband, warning him to be careful, there was a lot of trash on the highway. She turned to look at her sleeping children in the back of the van. All four of them cuddled up in blankets and pillows, arms and legs flopped over one another like a litter of puppies.
As she turned around, she could see flashing lights up ahead. “Slow down” she stated flatly. He already was.
The truck was parked on the side of the road, pieces of metal in its grill. One front tire was flat, the cab of the truck leaning over like it was tired, or hurt, just needed a rest. Then she saw the driver sitting on the side of the highway in the long grass, head in his hands, rocking back and forth.
Up ahead, she saw the reason for the trash strewn highway, the reason for the flashing lights, the reason for his pain.
The car had been little and red and was now the size of a lawnmower, back and front smashed together like an accordion of agony. Possessions everywhere. Suitcases, books, water bottles, a stuffed Winnie the Pooh.
Then came the figures under the blankets. First a large shape under a navy comforter, next a smaller figure under a flowered tablecloth, left hand sticking out as if to reach for the next pair of small figures sharing one pink fuzzy blanket.
As they were directed slowly past the tragedy, tears were streaming down her cheeks. A low moan came from her throat, her face drawn into a grimace of pain and disbelief. The last thing she saw as they left the scene was a little pink baby shoe, cloth, with a ribbon for a tie and lace around the edges. Her choked outburst woke up the oldest in the back.
“What’s up mom?”
“Nothing, Brad,” her husband answered softly, “We’re all okay. Go back to sleep.”
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6 comments:
I like your story but I'm sorry to hear that it's mostly true. Great writing, Janna. Very suspenseful and descriptive. Can't wait to see you guys this Saturday.
Nice job, Janna. I could visualize it all. Beautiful.
Keep up the good 'ol college work! It won't be too long. College algebra only took me two or three times around. Thanks Simi Valley School District!
Okay. I'm going to give you the kind of feedback I always want. Delete me if it's not what you wanted.
It's amazing. I love it. It's gut-wrenching. Sickening. Devastating. And I think it's hard to evoke such a visceral response. I'm seriously impressed.
I had a couple of questions: 1. Is the truck a semi? Or a pickup? (because of all the debris, I was picturing a moving van behind a car, and that the driver and family were related.) 2. Because the "figures" were under blankets and not in bags, I wondered whether they were fatalities, or injured.
My very very favorite segment is "The car had been little and red and was now the size..." That's poetry.
oh, and, i want to read your other stuff. don't waste it on an unresponsive teacher.
Janna, that is wonderfuly writing.
I could feel the tenor of the story as the lines about the items on the side of the road began.
I pictured the the truck as a semi, the family of deceased under the only things available, ie, the descriptive blankets. The last line was a wonderful tie-in.
Very picturesque!
Thank you everyone. My needy-ness is assauged for another week or so.
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