by R.T. Allenson

Patrick had smashed his car against the wall – glass shattering, metal ripping and twisting. Bones crunching and breaking from the force of the impact…

The writer stopped momentarily from typing and stared at the computer screen, resting his thin fingers on the warm keyboard. He licked his lips, tasting the last traces of soda lingering in his mouth and then started typing again.

…the last thing he saw was the little girl he had avoided, her face transfixed with an expression of unbridled terror as the car exploded with sound and fury.

“Done!” The writer said triumphantly, leaning back on his chair. He regarded his work for a moment and then, with a click of a button, published his story. He smiled.

“I need a job.”