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I drove off without looking back, vision blurred and head swimming. I tried to focus on following the yellow lines away from town, but somewhere took a wrong turn back to the intersection. People had gathered. A gurney had been wheeled out. I reversed, taking backstreets toward the highway, thinking of my daughter waiting at home in her pink sunhat. I rounded the corner and found myself back at the intersection. The crowd had grown. I recognized some of the faces watching me in the light of the sirens. By the third time around, I understood. Each time, I drove away. Each time, the road brought me back. Each time, the interval was shorter, my world smaller. Finally I pulled into the intersection and on each side I saw another street leading to another intersection leading to another street with my car in the middle, my drink-flushed face behind the wheel. This is my world now: an intersection, a flashing siren, a pink sunhat lying in the road.
Short story written by Peter Chiykowski
website twitter facebook instagramStory prompt taken from a photo by Ferdinand Stohr
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