As you can see I am posting like crazy today. My dear friend Jake used to write cool “rudessions” or stories about nothing and everything. This is one that I did the other day at work on my lunch break. It is more a play with words than anything really serious. Enjoy! Or Don’t!
Five minutes.
I slam the phone down, leap out of my chair and sprint out of my office. I run through the hallway and into the foyer slamming into the front doors. The receptionist screams. I jerk the doors open wide and run for the elevators. I jam the down button over and over. Halfway to the stairs I hear the familiar “ding” of the arriving elevator. I spin around and have to dive through closing doors. Empty, thankfully. I hit the second floor button and the doors close slowly, so slowly. I look at my watch.
Four minutes.
I run through open doors fumbling for my keys. Click, click, beep, beep. I claw the door open. Inside I turn the key, shift, and slam the gas. Go. Tires protesting, I roar through the parking garage, round and round and round.
Three minutes.
Faster, must go faster. Traffic is light, but still too heavy. I weave in and out of the rubber & steel obstacle course. And people; innocent people. My heart races and my hands shake. Horns curse me. Screeching tires everywhere. Green, yellow. red.
Two Minutes.
I can see my house now. I lick my lips. A large white van is pulling away. The garage door is open. Too late. Profanity, copious profanity. I stomp on the brakes and jump out of the car. Tears stream down my face. I can’t see. I don’t need to see. Through the door, kitchen, living room. Up the stairs. Into my bedroom. Into my closet.
One minute.
I almost trip on the stairs. I do trip on my son’s train set. I land on my hand wrong. Screaming pain courses through my wrist and arm. I force myself to my feet. And scramble through the garage. My car idles. The van is gone. But I know the neighborhood. There is only one way out. I wipe the tears away with my swollen hand. I pray.
Ahead I see the van, turning left onto the highway. I am only a few hundred feet behind it now. I think about slowing down at the four way stop, but I don’t. I almost hit a mini van full of kids. The white van accelerates ahead. I know there is really only one way to finish this. I just hope my air bag deploys. 20-30-40-60-80-
Drip. Drip. I wipe my wounded forehead with my good hand. Thick shards of glass cover my face and arms. I kick my door open and wiggle around the airbag. With my help the van crashed in a nearby ditch. It is on its side, tires still spinning. I stumble toward it gun in hand. Only six bullets. Please be enough. A man struggles out of the passenger door.
One.
A gun pokes out from around the dead man and fires a burst in my direction. I am too numb to feel anything. I step closer. He is using his friend as a shield.
Two, three.
The back doors explode and two more dazed men exit.
Fourfive.
I step over them and look into the darkened space. The last one holds a gun to my daughter’s throat. He looks confident. My wife is crumpled in a bloody heap to his left. My daughter is crying. Daddy, daddy, daddy…
Six.
Woah. I was not prepared for such an intense rudession. That was excellent. Quit quitting writing and finish an entire book! The world deserves to savor your talent.