The mini pink convertible, in all its glory, appeared to be a glum shade of grey as the darkness and lamppost light flooded through the windscreen. The rebellious teenager sitting in the backseat who you knew as your younger sister asked “Could you drive any slower?” You almost laughed, except for the fact that you were too tired from doing a wide game at Scouts in the dark, and rested your jaw on the palm of your left hand as your mom replied with something relevant to the question previously (and sarcastically) asked, but it was less memorable so it slipped your mind as the drone of quiet rap music bled from the radio placed halfway in between you and your mom. It was probably nearing half nine, but you weren’t definite about the fact, so tried to fall asleep. You were a long way from home yet. At least, it felt like you were. Raindrops began splattering down on the windscreen and the wipers snapped into action. The indicator set off, ticking like a bomb. The car turned right into the council estate where you lived. I can't tell you what happens next, you'll find out in a while, but I’m so, so sorry. I just wanted to be with you.
YOU ARE READING
Catch A Falling Star
Short StoryYou were there, since the beginning. And it wasn't your fault. It was mine. I couldn't save you in time. This is a short story of love and loss.
