A friend of mine wants me to put this up against my better judgement. It is the first part of what I wrote so far. The idea being I was going to tell a story, where you already had a good idea where it was going. This is actually a pretty cheap trick to get you to keep reading if it is done well. Sort of the poor man's foreshadowing if you will.
Anyway....here it is so she will shut up.
It was the night of the first storm of the season in town, and the rain was coming down in sheets. There was a cool breeze to accompany the occasional flashes and booms that punctuated nature's fury.
In the rear-view mirror, Danica could see her reflection clearly. From the corner of one bruised eye, painful tears were streaming down her face. They were not the tears of sorrow.
Danica was a much more careful driver than she had been just 8 months ago, and while she fought tears and thoughts with every ounce of her considerable will, she also concentrated on a safe driving experience. Danica refused to take that chance, even as she was completely uprooting her life.
Looking in the mirror again she saw the terror fade. The3 anger was not there as it had been just an hour ago. It was replaced by a serene calm that she did not actually feel. Was she really going through with this?
The tears were not of sorrow and loss like one might expect. Danica did not mourn the dissolution of her relationship with Patrick; in fact one might say in a way she was celebrating it.
The tears were those of a person who just doesn't know what else to do other than cry. When you're tired...no exhausted, and you can't take anymore, what do you do? When your anger is spent and your adrenaline gone, what do you do? When you are scared of the unknown but you can’t run away from it, what do you do? When you are determined to break free of the chains that shackle you to an existence you cannot stand, what do you do? When you are fleeing the scene of the crime, what do you do?
Danica cries.
Danica cries lonely tears, silent tears, defiant tears.
Danica never wanted this, but who among us get to choose our fate freely?
Danica had survived what most would determine after close examination, a microscopic fiber check, and a thorough inspection of every piece of evidence, a difficult life. She had come this far, lived this long, dealt with this much. The journey would last a little longer before she reached a safe plateau, bit she could see it from where she sat behind the wheel of her PT cruiser, despite the heavy rain and poor visibility.
These were the thoughts of Danica Phillips as she drove to work for the last time.
Needed some more deptrh I thought, something to make it tangible.
What do you think?
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