Imaginarium

Staring at Death

It was raining outside. Not just "raining" but pouring. Normally, "raining" is when it feels like the heavenly sprinklers are running, but "pouring" seems like gods themselves are emptying jars of water on to the earth. I guess that ought to give a clearer picture.

So it's pouring and the we, the Rourke family, are battling the God's wraith on our charge, and old station wagon. 

"Mum! It's been ages! I'm sure we are lost by now!" I whined. That's me, people: a whiner, a "give up already" kinda person.

"I'm sure we're not, honey!" Mum chirped from the front seat, " The GPS just confirms it!"

"Wait! The GPS is working again?" my brother poked his head between the two front seats. "Oh! You were trying to 'reassure' us! Sorry."

My brother slumped on to his seat again and glared at the pouring rain outside. He had got bored of killing off people in his Nintendo and had been glaring at the rain for hours.

My Mum glared at the GPS and went back to staring at the road in front of us. Dad just drove and drove and drove.

"What about some restaurant? There has to be some place to stop by," I returned to my whining.

"Abby, we've been searching for the same thing for the last couple hours." Dad joined the conversation now. Then he whispered to Mum: "Maybe we should turn back?"

"I don't know!" Mum sighed, her eyes roaming the road's edges.

That's when I saw it - him, her, or whatever - a dark, cloaked, upright thing standing beside the road. It was sort of like a real-life Voldemort, just like the way he is introduced in the first Harry Potter movie.

Why did I call it an 'it'? Because I just knew it wasn't human. It's like being able to identify a particular voice; I just knew. Maybe it's what people call an aura or maybe I was imagining stuff. I just stared and stared; and I knew the rest of my family were doing the same thing.

Everything was in slow motion. Raindrops took hours to finish their journey on to the earth. The station wagon took hours to move an inch forward. My head took hours to turn back and look through the windshield; but it took seconds for the truck to collide with the station wagon.

A/N: This story was published in the Your Short Stories section of Wordsmith Issue 43!