High beams flashed like lightning in the night, blinding aging eyes. Into the ditch he drove and out again, sliding over leaves piled deep by the wind.
“Whew, that was close!” He said.
“Yes dear, but thrilling wasn’t it?” Said Hilda.
“Perhaps you could call it that. Easy enough for you to say, you weren’t driving. We could have been killed, you know!” He turned to scowl at his wife.
“True enough I suppose. The Lord protects his flock. We should offer prayers of thanks when we get to the church, my dear Billy.”
“You and that church! I don’t feel like going there tonight. I’ll drop you off and pick you up later.”
He did as he said, leaving a downcast Hilda to be greeted by friends happy to see her. They were unsurprised by Billy’s quick departure.
“He’s off to Micky’s, I’m sure,” she sniffed.
“Oh, don’t worry; he’ll come back safe and sound. Even if he won’t be here, you are,” Esther said, cheering Hilda the best she could.
Billy headed to Micky’s as Hilda expected. He felt the more the need for a few beers to calm his mind after the ditch drive than praying to a God he felt no connection with. Besides the Stanley Cup was still going on, with the Sharks and his Penguins even up at 3 and 3. Somebody’d win tonight.
Another writing prompt from the Gila Writers Group. It served as the inspiration for this week’s short scene. It’s from Paul O. Williams
The flick of high beams-- out of the dark roadside ditch leaps a tall grass clump.