The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: the roadblock.
Kat has agreed to watch a friend's son two mornings a week for two hours at a time and that began today. So while her and Max played with him I went to a coffee shop for some me time and to write a poem for my niece, who turns three on Friday.
Basically pleased with the end result. There are a couple of rough spots that I'd have liked to have smoothed out, but it needed to get in the mail today so... better luck next time, I guess.
Back to box harvesting tomorrow. It's crazy windy out there right now, so hopefully things settle down before morning.
Mine:
By the time we saw the police cars blocking the road it was too late to turn back. They'd have been on our tails the instant the wheels of the van crossed the center line. There was really no choice but to keep going and hope for the best.
I mean, it's not like they had pictures of us or anything like that. We wore masks, after all - we weren't stupid about it.
But they knew how many of us there were. Probably had a pretty good idea about how tall each of us was. Maybe even ballparked our ages while they were at it.
That's a lot of information to go on, if you stop to think about it too long.
We'd been so careful though. There were no fingerprints to go on, not a single piece of physical evidence left behind. Right? Nobody made any careless mistakes... right?
Anyway. Like I said, there was no choice in the matter. We had to keep going. Cross our fingers, hope to get through. And if they figured out who we were?
Well, the cops weren't the only ones carrying loaded guns.
4 comments:
There's a roadblock
In my head --
It won't let the words out.
The snow was blurring past the windshield. The wipers were on their highest setting yet snowflakes still gathered in between swipes. His hands were vices around the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the ivory snow road before him.
It was hard for Prosper to believe that all of this was happening because he didn’t want to marry her just yet. Every man wanted to provide for his wife and, until the band signed their first record deal, he just wouldn’t be able to take care of Gennifer like he should.
“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered under his breath.
Why the cabin? It was late January for Christ’s sake. He could still remember the desperation in her voice when she called him.
I just love you so much. I can’t live without you. Don’t make me leave.
The speedometer was pushing 70 but Prosper felt like he was only inching up the curling mountain road.
A flash of brown caught his attention. A massive pine tree came down right on the road. Prosper served the truck, managing to slam his side panel into the bark at the edge of the road.
“Fuck!” He slammed his fists down on the steering wheel. Prosper crawled out of the passenger door, throwing himself into the blizzard. One look at the man-sized truck told him there was no moving the pine. Not by himself.
Prosper hoped Gennifer wouldn’t do anything to herself before morning could bring a few extra set of hands.
@Morganna: I know how you feel!
@Marc: That sounds like a great way to get Max extra play-dates :) I hope it all goes smoothly and that the kids get on well. And the poem sounds like a lovely idea to me, I think that's a really nice gift!
Heh, your first paragraph gives almost no indication of how the story is going to turn out, so there's some nice misdirection going on there. And it escalates rapidly as well!
Oh, and when did ballpark verb? English seems to get more and more flexible every time I look round :-D
The roadblock
"Mum, look--"
"Oh George, please stop complaining! We've only been here twenty minutes and you've asked to be unchained to go to the toilet, because you thought there was a wasp, and because you wanted to get your hand-lotion in case the chains chafed. Can't you man up a bit?"
"Diane, he is only seven." Jordan was chained on the other side of her and was wondering if he'd made a mistake agreeing to be part of a human road block with his ex-wife. They, and forty-five other people, had chained themselves to saw-horses and were three-deep across the road, hoping to stop the demolition of old-growth woodland.
"I know how old he is! I was there at his birth...."
Jordan hadn't been, but then George wasn't his son, which was the big reason for their divorce.
"Mum, look--"
"I said be quiet George! Jordan and I are talking."
"But mum! Bulldozers!"
Diane finally fell silent as she saw the approaching bulldozers coming over the crest of the hill. She inhaled, ready to start singing "We shall not be moved," but then was distracted by Jordan fidgeting with the chains next to her.
"Now what?" she snapped.
"I've driven one of those," said Jordan, getting free of his chains and running to George. "I know they've got no brakes worth talking about."
Morganna - ah yes, I do believe we've all been there!
Ivybennet - love the way you set the scene at the start. Some great details throughout as well, and you left us hanging with some nice tension at the end there. Nice work!
Greg - not sure about ballpark... I grew up playing and watching baseball, so it's a term I've been familiar with for a while now. Maybe it's a North American thing?
Hah, I love so many things about this scene. Perhaps especially the end, where the ex-husband goes to free the boy who is not his son and leaves the woman who is no longer his wife. I might have expected you to just have him abandon the both of them!
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