I missed Monday and Tuesday, in real time, but will try to back track and write something for those two dates… but since I slacked off, I’ll write something longer today. This is one of my own concepts, I guess you’d consider this fragments of a dream…
Mal carefully outlined: I Love You, -MJ with foam cups on the parking garage roof. She waited for his car to drive around the curve of the adjacent garage, and waved when he came into view.
He paused and breathed in deep, watching her black hair undulating in the wind. His eyes followed her as she slinked back through the caution bars onto the floor below and headed toward her car. An impatient car horn from behind brought him back to reality, as he watched her fade away.
As Mallory walked, she noticed Sarah, in a casual business outfit, heels clicking against the cement, followed by Paris, still in her blue and white school uniform. Warmth bled through her fingertips, she shivered. Mal looked steadily at Sarah on the floor below and knew what she had to do to end her own jealousy.
She sat in her sleek black sports car and watched them walk along the row of cars toward their station wagon. She left the cups to their own windy fate and started the engine.
Sarah walked alongside Paris, holding hands, swinging them while listening to her 8 year old chatter on about voice class and how miss C’s finger got stuck in the recorder as she played an F for the class to trill.
Car tires screeched in the distance.
A sickening thud, and with little resistance and no reaction, Mal continued toward the exit, slightly faster than the pace she used to run over Sarah. Paris’ shrieks echoed through the garage.
Paris cradled her mum, and tried to push down on her torso, which was purple and red, her eyes were bloodshot and her right femur broke through skin, poking out for Paris’ bewildered face to see.
She choked back tears and kept screaming for help. Hurried footsteps approached from the distance. They sounded so far away, Paris thought. Sarah’s eyes held her gaze as she tried to speak, but the fluid build up in her lungs was overpowering her vocal chords.
Instead, of “I love you” she let out a rattle and closed her eyes, trying to focus, trying to stay awake through the pain. At least she’s safe. At least my baby is ok, she thought as she re-opened her eyes.
She was surrounded by large blobs, poking and prodding her, asking questions her brain couldn’t register.
Paris hid in an aisle between two nearby cars, crouched against the driver’s side doorway, face buried in her knees, the tears finally began to flow.
Mal continued to drive, straight faced, down the spiraling corridors. She had to make it out before anyone IDed her car. She pulled up to the pay station and swiped her timestamped parking pass, and proceeded to the attendant booth.
She paid her $3 fare and strained to hear the security radio. They had just reached Sarah’s body and were calling EMS. Great. If she survives it’ll be a miracle.
She continued down the street and headed toward the highway, until she saw several officers waiting by the entrance. Instead, she turned left and quietly maneuvered through the mall parking lot, headed toward the northbound lanes of 10 at a larger intersection, so her car could blend in with rush hour traffic.
She pulled into the on ramp and quickly faded into the push and pull of afternoon gridlock. She took the Southcross exit and headed to a friend’s junkyard, where her Mini waited.
Maybe it was just her guilty conscience, Mal kept looking over her shoulder to nothingness. No police sirens or high speed chase. Nevertheless, she squeezed past a lowering railroad marker and crossed a pair of train tracks moments before a freight train roared through, carrying its load of coal toward the metropolis.
She made a sharp left turn into the junkyard and parked her car beside the owner’s ’62 Chevy Impala.
Her phone rang. She jumped from the broken silence and dove for her purse, fumbling through its contents before she noticed her cell had fallen on the floor.
“Hello?” She said, pulling the phone away to look at the number.
“Why?” he whispered, still in shock as he struggled to keep pace with his wife’s ambulance.
To be continued? What do you think? Comment below. 🙂