Pain Tension Sorrow Dread

The windshield shatters, scattering glass on me and the driver. A body sprawls broken and bloody as the night wails with screams and moans. We cling to each other. My cherished Buddhist saying “do no harm”, in tatters.

Days later, the agent informs us the man is fine. Dread, replaced by relief, revolts, switches to anger.

“He appeared from nowhere,” I say, blaming him.

Fear festers, tension mounts. Huddled in the passenger seat, I holler “watch it, she’s crossing.” No one’s there. PTSD they say.

We’re moving. Away from the city. Away from our dreams of a year ago.

Shattered.

From: Friday Flash Fiction


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