11-25-2020, 03:40 AM
There would never be forgiveness for what she'd done. So running was her only hope to stay
alive. Sitting in that fog-drenched alley was comforting. She felt safe, hidden. It was only a few
minutes past three in the small hours but her faculties were sharp. Part of that was the crank but
most of it was a different kind of rush.
Zara put it into gear and pressed down on the gas, guiding the '69 Mustang out onto the side street.
Both her jeans and dark brown leather jacket were ripped in various places that spoke of a struggle.
She looks up into the rearview to verify the blood running from her nose. One black eye. A busted
lip. More blood on her cheek, but it's dried. Her night had been full. It was time to get as far from
there as she could on the quarter tank of gas she had left. She checked her pockets. Fifty-two and
change. Forty for gas, the rest for incidentals. Whatever it took to put as many miles between her
and Little Rock as possible. She could sleep once daylight brought her to Wichita Falls. Until then,
white line fever.
The roads were always dead at this time of morning. She liked it. In fact, she preferred it. People weren't
high on her list of acceptable company. Her best friend was freedom. And if you stood between her and
that special mate, you'd see the wrong side of her personality. Her youthful appearance and pixie haircut
whispered cute and innocent - but that's the last thing she was! Twenty-seven years walking this Earth
taught her a few things. One of which was to never trust anyone. If you had a pulse, you were her enemy.
Only a few more blocks to the highway. The amphetamines were pumping, she was grinding her teeth
and stomping her left foot hard and fast but there was no music on. Then, her life changed. Blue and red
flashing in her rearview brought her dreams of getting out crashing down. Not enough gas to try and run.
Life will always bring you the inevitable. Whether that's good or bad all depends on you. Water the flowers,
not the weeds. She pulled over and killed the engine. Slowly, she reached over into the passenger seat and
carefully brought that .357 into her lap.
She knew she would never be able to explain that body in the trunk.
alive. Sitting in that fog-drenched alley was comforting. She felt safe, hidden. It was only a few
minutes past three in the small hours but her faculties were sharp. Part of that was the crank but
most of it was a different kind of rush.
Zara put it into gear and pressed down on the gas, guiding the '69 Mustang out onto the side street.
Both her jeans and dark brown leather jacket were ripped in various places that spoke of a struggle.
She looks up into the rearview to verify the blood running from her nose. One black eye. A busted
lip. More blood on her cheek, but it's dried. Her night had been full. It was time to get as far from
there as she could on the quarter tank of gas she had left. She checked her pockets. Fifty-two and
change. Forty for gas, the rest for incidentals. Whatever it took to put as many miles between her
and Little Rock as possible. She could sleep once daylight brought her to Wichita Falls. Until then,
white line fever.
The roads were always dead at this time of morning. She liked it. In fact, she preferred it. People weren't
high on her list of acceptable company. Her best friend was freedom. And if you stood between her and
that special mate, you'd see the wrong side of her personality. Her youthful appearance and pixie haircut
whispered cute and innocent - but that's the last thing she was! Twenty-seven years walking this Earth
taught her a few things. One of which was to never trust anyone. If you had a pulse, you were her enemy.
Only a few more blocks to the highway. The amphetamines were pumping, she was grinding her teeth
and stomping her left foot hard and fast but there was no music on. Then, her life changed. Blue and red
flashing in her rearview brought her dreams of getting out crashing down. Not enough gas to try and run.
Life will always bring you the inevitable. Whether that's good or bad all depends on you. Water the flowers,
not the weeds. She pulled over and killed the engine. Slowly, she reached over into the passenger seat and
carefully brought that .357 into her lap.
She knew she would never be able to explain that body in the trunk.
