by Abigal Grace
This just came out one day. See "The Journal" for more. I won't write more.
|Out of the Darkness (for lack of anything else)
By Abigail Grace
The intersection loomed ahead, growing closer and closer as David Harton drove along just under the legal speed of 55 mph. The radio was turned on, volume set at a low hum so that it had nearly lulled ten-year-old Christina Harton to sleep in the carâ€™s rear, passenger-side seat.
It was drawing near nine p.m. on the early spring evening. The sky had just grown dark with the last rays of setting sun but distant hues where the moon now stood a sentinel in the night.
David yawned wearily and turned the radio up a notch in order to keeps his thoughts from wandering as he drove. They were nearly home. Just a few more miles and their country road would be in view on the right. Jan would be waiting at the door to greet him and tuck Christina into bed.
David smiled warmly at that thought. He had married Jan â€“ what was it? â€“ just over fourteen years ago now? He wondered where the time had flown by to. Austin, Christinaâ€™s older brother, would be turning twelve in a few weeks. The family had grown up in a time that seemed like only days.
David yawned again and tried to keep his focus totally pealed on the road. He wasnâ€™t usually this tired by nine oâ€™clock, but helping his father clear trees that had blown down around the farm had taken its toll on him. Christina had enjoyed the day, in any case, and she was worn out, too.
â€śAh, well,â€ť David told himself as he approached the blinking yellow lights, â€śfive more minutes and youâ€™ll have the night rest of the night to rest.â€ť
If only he had known he would meet with eternity before the night was up.
David neared the blinking lights and continued at the legal speed as he always did.
Suddenly a flash of motion and the reflection of his headlights off a flying silver object jerked Davidâ€™s thoughts to reality.
â€śWhat idiot is driving at this time of night without his headlights â€“ ?!â€ť
David had no time left to wonder as the silver pickup slammed into his side of the hunter green compact car.
Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Airbags were disgracefully employed. Something snapped. Then all was still.
Christina jolted back to full consciousness. Her eyes popped open wide only to be met with the sight of her father slumped forward, blood streaming for his temple and arms. Light danced from the shrines of glass that lay scattered about the car and over David.
â€śDaddy?â€ť Christy croaked in a small voice.
Her father did not stir.
â€śDaddy!â€ť she cried again, this time her voice filled with anxiousness and fear. â€śDaddy! Wake up, Daddy,â€ť she pleaded, but to no avail. He father could not hear her voice and would never hear it again.
â€śDaddy! Daddy! Wake up, Daddy!â€ť Christy cried fiercely, unwilling to except that her father could no longer hear. â€śYou have to wake up and take us home! Daddy! Daddy . . .â€ť her voice trailed off into wailing sobs that did not end, not even when a neighborâ€™s phone call brought police, firefighters, and an ambulance screeching onto the scene. It did not stop at the hospital . . . or at home in her motherâ€™s arms . . . or at her fatherâ€™s funeral . . . or seven years later as the teenage Christina awoke sweating and trembling in her bed.