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Yeah, I'm not quite sure how I got past the gates of horror to become a part of the Coffin Hop, but here I am. Yay, me!
Actually, this is my second year participating and I love it, despite the fact that I'm not really a horror writer. No, not really. I mean, I do write about zombies and I can get downright disgusting in certain scenes, but I wouldn't call it horror-horror. Yeah, my book is #1 in Western Horror category (not a lot of western horror books out there so it's not as impressive as it sounds), but The Zombie West Series is more romance and teen angst than anything.
But here I am. Yippee! I slipped through the cracks and I'm glad I did *there's no reneging on the coffin hop invite, right?*
Actually, this is my second year participating and I love it, despite the fact that I'm not really a horror writer. No, not really. I mean, I do write about zombies and I can get downright disgusting in certain scenes, but I wouldn't call it horror-horror. Yeah, my book is #1 in Western Horror category (not a lot of western horror books out there so it's not as impressive as it sounds), but The Zombie West Series is more romance and teen angst than anything.
But here I am. Yippee! I slipped through the cracks and I'm glad I did *there's no reneging on the coffin hop invite, right?*
So what to do this year? I've been thinking about it, trying to come up with something worthwhile, and decided to try my hand at a short piece of horror writing. It's October. Why not? (This is not edited and this is me completely winging it--have mercy on me).
Okay, maybe it's not necessarily horror-horror, but if it gets you thinking, then I'm okay with that too.
Check out the Rafflecoppter giveaway too!
Okay, maybe it's not necessarily horror-horror, but if it gets you thinking, then I'm okay with that too.
Check out the Rafflecoppter giveaway too!
VULNERABLE
Angela Scott
Angela Scott
He jogs along the edge of the two-lane road, his back to me. Wires attached to earbuds dangle from his ears. He's probably listening to his favorite music, running to the beat of some pop singer's latest hit while enjoying the last of the season's good weather days. Winter will be coming soon, but for now, the sun exudes warmth and invites many to crawl out from the comforts of their homes to play. Toddlers climb jungle gyms at parks. Hikers take to the trails. Bikers zip by.
This man runs.
I spread my fingers, stretching them wide, before gripping the steering wheel once more.
I don't know him. He doesn't know me.
It's perfect.
No cars trail behind. None come from the opposite direction. We're alone on this long stretch of road. I slow my car, thinking, contemplating.
I'm actually a little frightened of myself and these thoughts.
I glance at the mums sitting on the passenger side floor--bright red and orange. I'd crawled from the comforts of my home to buy flowers to plant in the yard next to the dying rose bushes and the birdbath.
I should go home. I really should.
But I look at the man once again.
I don't know him. He doesn't know me.
He doesn't even know I've slowed my car or that I've been following him for a few minutes, but which feels so much longer.
He trusts that vehicles will swing wide of him. That's the universal thing to do--what is expected.
It's the right thing.
I don't want to do the right thing, but the moment is gone as my car drives to the left of him, swinging into the oncoming lane to give him a wide berth.
Our eyes meet and he nods his thanks. I nod too, with reluctance.
I should go home.
The moment has past, and I remain normal. For once... for once.
The mums call to me, they need planting and soon.
But I take a deep breath and turn the car around.
This man runs.
I spread my fingers, stretching them wide, before gripping the steering wheel once more.
I don't know him. He doesn't know me.
It's perfect.
No cars trail behind. None come from the opposite direction. We're alone on this long stretch of road. I slow my car, thinking, contemplating.
I'm actually a little frightened of myself and these thoughts.
I glance at the mums sitting on the passenger side floor--bright red and orange. I'd crawled from the comforts of my home to buy flowers to plant in the yard next to the dying rose bushes and the birdbath.
I should go home. I really should.
But I look at the man once again.
I don't know him. He doesn't know me.
He doesn't even know I've slowed my car or that I've been following him for a few minutes, but which feels so much longer.
He trusts that vehicles will swing wide of him. That's the universal thing to do--what is expected.
It's the right thing.
I don't want to do the right thing, but the moment is gone as my car drives to the left of him, swinging into the oncoming lane to give him a wide berth.
Our eyes meet and he nods his thanks. I nod too, with reluctance.
I should go home.
The moment has past, and I remain normal. For once... for once.
The mums call to me, they need planting and soon.
But I take a deep breath and turn the car around.
