I've been Challenged Once, Given Coffee Twice

Route 19

Route 19

The warm breeze blew on my face and made my long hair flutter as I drove by the picturesque Route 19. The huge rectangular green sign on the right side announced in big white numbers the road taken. That meant it was only a few miles left to Bridgewoods County, my destiny. A couple of hundreds people would be waiting in a pub known as Azalea, a famous bar where wanna-be singers performed with hopes to be signed by the scouts from famous record companies that attended.

I brought with me my Spanish guitar and a small suitcase with the outfit to wear in the show. My glittering faded blue jeans, black leather boots and a black 'Guess' tank top. That, my lucky hat and my diamond chandelier earrings. "Tonight is going to be the night." I whispered and smiled to my reflection in the rear-vew mirror.

The mountain range glistened in scarlet earthy tones as the sun tried to kiss the craggy peaks. The scarce vegetation interrupted with green thorny and disheveled bushes the immensity of the reddish desert. A few trees by the edge of the road offered some shade to the hitchhikers on the rout.

And speaking precisely about hitchhikers, there was a man standing with a guitar case under a tree waving to me frantically to stop.

"Good afternoon ma'am. Can you take me to Bridgewoods. My car broke and I had to leave it in a garage in Carlson City." The man approached slowly and smiled timidly showing some reservations in his gestures. It was obvious he wanted to be cautious.

He seemed to be a good person. His face serene and his bright blue eyes gave me some confidence. "You bring a guitar case with you... Are you going to Azalea?"

"Yes ma'am. I am."

"I guess you are a lucky fellow. Come on in. I'm going there too."

The man put his guitar in the back and got in my Jeep.

"Thanks ma'am." The young man told me.

"No problem. What is your name sir?"

"My name is Frank... Frank Wellington."

"Nice to meet you Frank. I'm Marie Higgins."

The man smiled. His facade was calm and his features handsome and I felt relieved he didn't look like those psicho-hitchhikers from the horror films. Certainly I didn't want to end as a dead singer in the back trunk of an old car -or in the back seat of my jeep-.

After talking -well I talked mostly to myself because Frank seemed to be more like the quiet type of person- and driving for another half an hour we reached to Bridgewoods.

Azalea was crowded. it was a fantastic place. As I walked in I forgot about Frank who left to a corner somewhere in the bar. Astounded, I walked admiring the cheerful bar. I looked at the stage. The people applauded enthusiastically after a very talented woman finished her performance. 'Damned, she's good!' I thought.

I changed my outfit in the dressing rooms and then I waited standing by the bar counter for my turn to perform. Butterflies hovered in my stomach.

Suddenly I remembered Frank. Searching amongst the audience. I spotted him, standing alone next to the restrooms.

The man on the stage introduced me. The butterflies in my stomach went in rampart swirling.

I took a deep breath and began to play the guitar. All my fears disappeared with the first notes played.

Frank smiled to me from his spot by the restrooms. I sang like I never had sung before.

The crowd clapped and cheered frantically. It was a standing ovation. I made it! It felt awesome!

I searched for Frank after the show and waited... But he never performed. He was gone...

A week after the performance at the Azalea, I was sitting in my bedroom revising the contracts. I had three on the desk to read carefully.

I grabbed the mug with the steaming coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. The porcelain cup dropped on the floor braking in a hundred pieces. My hands trembled as I read the headline: 'After a year of the vicious and brutal murder of the singer and compositor Frank Wellington, no one has been formally accused.'

***Ok, I just simply invited myself to join this WattpadWednesday challenge. I saw TheOrangutan did his and I wanted to do mine also. Yes, I'm a spoiled girl.
So the prompt he gave me was to write a story under 750 words with a bit of horror and with the phrase 'Route 19' in it.
This is a 710 words story and maybe is not that horrific at all. My dark side was lost this time somewhere by the Route 19!!!
I hope you had enjoyed this!