So this is a short story on ‘a belt’….What do you think? Does it end too abruptly?
She grasped the steering wheel gently, allowing her fingertips to caress the worn leather. The hum of the engine filledher body, vibrating upon her stuttering lungs, each stutter an echo of the horror of that night. It’s true, the marks ofher actions presented themselves clearly on her body. The peeling paint, the marks, the blood acted like pins on a map, showcasing her night in full glory. But her face, her face was somehow wrong. Her face did not show the seawater trademarks of unhappiness; it was clear. Clear of all thought and presence, clear of all sense and understanding.
Her eyes dropped to the glimmer on her left hand, a diamond stood mockingly on her third finger. The clarity dropped from her face and was replaced by confusion. Pure desolate confusion as to how she had let this foreign object get on her body. She had a powerful urge, a need, to take it off, to rid herself of the impurity. She let go of the steering wheel and put the finger in-between her teeth, twisting the invader with her molars, alarm and hysteria inher previously tranquil eyes, until the thing came off in a flurry and rattled onto the dashboard.
Emily drove on. Her fingers were pulsating from the force of her movements and a pale damp line replaced the sterility of the ring that was once there. She allowed herself to put her hand towards her lips, feeling the freedom ofher penned-in finger, feeling the dampness of the pale line drying slightly with her hot breath.
She did not allow herself to think. The haze that had replaced her sanity that night had taken full hold. Her skin still had the scrub marks of a persistent and harsh clean and the smell of white spirit filled the car. Her body slumped, with her one hand over her mouth, Emily carelessly wove through the dark night’s roads.
But through the numbness, a powerful icy blast made Emily tremble. Her hand, touching her heated lips, suddenly felt cold. Something was missing. It was like someone had ripped away her coat, her security, and thrown her into the cold, cold darkness. She needed it back.
And then, she undid her belt. Her icy, vulnerable hands stretched out towards the dashboard. She needed that ring.She needed her security.
Emily scrambled for her ring, clawing relentlessly at the greying dashboard.
And in one of those things that life calls “coincidence”, at that moment, a lorry turned onto the road where Emily was driving. The driver’s eyes had grown heavy from a day of long, slow arduous working and he allowed himself to slacken off the steering wheel. Singing out of tune, the driver was merely thinking about simple things. He was thinking about his wife, how she probably hadn’t remembered to video Top Gear, how she may have cooked that chicken dish, how she made him smile this morning.
The lights of Emily’s car looked so small as they jolted across the road into the lorry’s path. In a way, the light’s were like darting starlight, dancing. The lorry and the small car interlinked for a fearsome jig. The proud male vehicle bowed, taking the car by the hand, knowing he’d break her heart with his masculine power.
They turned in unison, the lorry drawing the little car underneath with the force of the motion. Then she, the belle the of ball, ended her dance. She spun, clear of the lorry in a movement that can only be described as “gravity defiant” and the dance bitterly ended as it attempted to serenade the tree.
Emily was slumped on the dashboard when the paramedics came, her hands streached, like they were searching for something, reaching for something. But nothing was there, only a small hole in the windscreen, pierced by something sharp.