Headlights

In the middle of the night, in the middle of a road, Michael finds himself alone, desolate and confused. He can't recall anything, except Paris...

Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry.

It was 2am in the morning and he had little recollection of how he came to be there. His jeans were torn at the knee, muddied and bleeding. He noticed scratches on his arms and was aware he was clutching a red ribbon in his left hand. He was desolate, but couldn't for the life of him recall why.

Pulling himself together, he wiped his nose on the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt and shivered. The November wind was biting and his jeans were sodden from the rain-stained asphalt. He took a deep breath in. Then out. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked. Why was he here?

He studied himself in more detail, the curiosity surrounding his situation becoming more desperate. The silk ribbon was frayed and splattered with dirt. The scratches on his arms and gashed knees were beginning to sting. The mud on them was not from the road. It seemed certain that he had taken a trip through the woods. He thought hard, trying to ease the memories forward. All that emerged was a brief recollection of a trip to Paris last summer. He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and escargots away. All he was left with was a name. Alice.

Alice. The name tasted good on his tongue. He said it out loud. "Alice." It made him feel warmer, safer. The hot tears had cooled. The shivering subsided. He smiled, closing his eyes, savouring the moment. He felt arms embracing him. Lips kissed his cheek, butterfly kisses on his forehead, soft and sweet. Then a coldness washed over him, a coldness he knew he had lived with for a long time. His eyelids flew open as he remembered. He remembered... the jealousy and the arguments and the anger and the screaming and the emptiness as she left. He remembered the time Alice, beautiful, sweet Alice and Fred went to car wash and never came back. Until last night, when he finally found them.

It all made sense now.

Headlights spun around the corner. He was still in the middle of the road, sitting in silence in the middle of a bitter, very bitter, November night. He was still sodden and still desolate. But he was clear in what he had to do. He lay down and breathed deeply as the harsh beams grew closer and closer, bathing him in artificial light. He grasped the red ribbon tightly and thought back to Paris...

Author's Note

Any and all feedback very much appreciated. Thanks for reading x

Reviews

[Marie]

The story starts as a vague idea, then builds to that one paragraph when Michael finally remembers what happens. I like it.

[Ania L]

Thank you x

[Woody]

wow the description is brilliant Ania. it is so good that a clear image pops up in the reader's mind. so vivid.I like the way you end it too. another good one!

[Ania L]

Thank you so much. I do get very wary about sharing my work as I'm not the most confident of writers, so comments like this make me smile!

[Marie]

I can't understand your lack of confidence. A great deal of the work on here is so badly written I should think the writer would be ashamed to post it. That doesn't apply to my writing, of course, or to Woody's.

[Ania L]

Oh wow!!! I love it.... excellent job with visuals that put me right there watching... waiting.,..and..it left me with a complete story but one that will stick in my mind and even heart. I applaud you..

[Ania L]

Thank you so much. I love writing flash fiction and pack in as much as I can, glad it seems to work!

[Farm Donkey]

Intelligent and dark. Refreshing to see such an original and well thought out idea in short format. Also nice to see it really well executed.

[Ania L]

Thank you, you gorgeous man! X