serious 1-3 sentence story - ZEFRANK.COM

Guido · 06-10-2003, 01:40 AM

I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I don’t know what I’m looking for and I don’t even know if I’m looking in the right place.

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06-10-2003, 01:40 AM	#12
Guido monkey Join Date: Jun 2003 Location: IL Posts: 15	I walked in the door. Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me. I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been. It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it. I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa. I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car. Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I don’t know what I’m looking for and I don’t even know if I’m looking in the right place.