The Wind in the TreesA Chapter by Corwin McAllister
8 minutes, timed; prompt = title.
Driving down Maltby Road at some indeterminable midpoint between the approaching dawn and the witching hour already past, which time I briefly spent feigning civility at a drive through window to a girl who was herself feigning dignity (both of us were failing miserably), my dying iron horse came upon a dark, inert mass in the middle of the road, it and my headlights colliding into each other abruptly like two highwaymen in a Medieval wood. Scowling I slowed down a little and jabbed at my steering wheel with my fist, not wishing an additional entry of red numerals onto my karmic ledger, least of all from something so trivial as a small mammal on it's perilous commute. No motion. Turning my chapped lips further downward and off to the right I loosed the restraints on morbid curiosity and allowed its weight to rest on the brake pedal. My truck rolled to a stop just in front of it, so that I couldn't see it past the hood, and muscling the recalcitrant door open I walked over to the opossum or whatever in hell it was. The wind in the trees in a copse off to the right a few hundred yards chuckled softly at me suddenly as I lowered myself next to the lump of fur in a dilettante coroner's squat.
© 2010 Corwin McAllister
Collected Free Writes