Jan 3: Write a story from the pov of a taxi driver
....
Again and again and again. It kept repeating itself like I was in a recurring dream.
I actually thought I was in a dream. A really horrific dream.
But it felt so real and it was damn scary.
"Greenwood street," the tall figure in a trenchcoat and a broad rimmed hat that shielded his face partially mummured.
"Get in," I said shortly.
He stepped into the car with a large, brown suitcase and shut the door.
I started the car and drove off, my eyes on the road not bothering to look in to the rearview mirror.
After a few minutes, we reached the destination and the taxi screeched to a halt.
The silent man got off and gave me his fare before ambling down the road.
I sped off immediately.
A hand waved feebly by my side and I stopped at the side of the road.
The pedestrian bent over and peered into the car window.
I raised my brows up at him.
"Greenwood street."
I could have sworn that it was the man I dropped off not long ago.
Nevertheless, I told him to get in once more.
I drove in silence for a while and this time I stared occasionally at the rearview mirror.
Each time I glanced, I caught sight of the same man, brown trenchcoat, brown hat, barely visible face.
Although, I was able to make out that he was a black man. He looked lean and was certainly introverted.
I stopped soon when we reached the destination and he hopped out of the car, paying me before walking off again.
My heart began to beat a little faster than normal when the exact same guy stopped me again and requested to go to the same destination.
I peered at the man strangely for a moment and he looked straight back at me with an unnerving, unwavering gaze.
He got in and I drove off again.
I was trying to calm myself down and focus on the road, deciding in my head that today's taxi work was over,when my eyes flitted to the rearview mirror.
The car suddenly screeched to a halt in the middle of the road and I stared into the mirror for a few seconds more, my hands trembling on the steering wheel.
In the mirror, I didn't see my passenger.
I saw a woman. An elderly old white woman, picking at the edges of her floral gown absentmindedly.
Strangely, she didn't seem to notice that the car stopped and I immediately unlocked the car door and jumped out of my taxi, grabbing my bag and my phone, speeding down the road to my house with the help of the heavy dose of adrenaline pumping through my blood vessels.
