Apr. 7 - written by Christopher Rohan

Week 18

4-4-22 - Prompt: Sleet

Thunder rolled through the clouds to the ticking and clacking of partially frozen rain drops. Robert’s weary eyes opened to the eastern sun shining just below the incoming storm. It’s light set the sleet ablaze. He was glad to see it’s beauty, but the lack of sleep was getting to him and he begrudged its glory. He’d been driving for days, only stopping for gas and food. Yesterday, he’d driven almost eighteen hours before pulling over and leaning his chair back for as much sleep as he could.

Glancing at the clock he counted four hours since he pulled over. It would have to do. He just needed to keep going. He wasn’t sure what compelled him. He’d woken up one day and he just knew he needed to head east. So, he got in his car and started driving. He thought about the last few weeks, everything was seemingly fine. Work was good. He’d been the top salesman for a long while. He’d called his boss as he left Farrington Heights and told him he needed leave for an emergency. He didn’t have one, and he was never one to lie to the boss, but the more he drove the more he knew he needed to continue. He’d already crossed the Rockies, the Great Plains and the Appalachians. He’d taken whatever road he wanted, zigging and zagging this way and that but always eastward.

It was a strange feeling. He couldn’t rest, but he was so tired. He just needed to keep going. He reached for his keys sitting in the cup holder and turning them, the engine turned over and the belt started squeaking in the humid and rainy air. As he let the car warm up, he glanced around his car. Days of travel had filled it with empty water bottles, energy bar wrappers, and empty coffee cups.

4-5-22 - Prompt: Obtuse

“Get to the van!” shouted a spindly thin man girded in a black tactical vest. A silenced MP5 was slung over his shoulder and gripped in his gloved right hand. The other hand held a large bag, weighted with unknown value. “Two, get on the wheel! We have less than two minutes to get out of here.” 

Without delay, the man addressed ran to the other side of the large grey utility van, marked with the logo of a nonexistent plumbing company, swung open the door, and started up the engine. Three more men trailed the first two out of the side door of a nondescript building into the alley where the van waited, each of them shouldering massive duffle bags. 

“Three, Four, and Five, get those bags into the van,” the first man continued shouting as he slid the van door open. The three offloaded the bags and hopped in as alarm bells started ringing just inside the building. The slim man closed the door, opened his own, but as he did out of the building rushed several armed guards. The man turned and let loose a scattered spray of bullets as the wheels of the van began to squeal on the asphalt. The thin man hopped on the side rail of the van as another spray of bullets sent the guards to cover.

The van peeled down the alley to the open street as gunshots echoed behind. The street was busy, and Two recklessly tore into traffic, taking a line far too wide. The van had no chance and immediately began to tip.