I stumbled across an old photo one of my former teachers used as a writing prompt in his class. While I couldn’t find the original story I had written for it (I’m sure it was awful – I was a brand new writing student and my zeal often sabotaged my storytelling abilities), I did decide to write a new story to accompany it.

It’s very raw (completely unedited) and I don’t see myself submitting it for publication anywhere, so I thought I’d share it here. Enjoy and, as always, I welcome any feedback or critique.

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The door slammed with a resounding thud, keys still in the ignition. And so I sat, my engine idling its mechanical purr, cracked leather seats growing cold from the freon-whipped air as the night wore on.

Tonight it was Rachel’s apartment, the dark hovel of 3B, which would leave him reeking of dollar store jasmine, sweat, and black mold. It was hard to understand how a man could polish my tires with meticulous precision and then treat his own body with such apathy.

At least Monica mocked cleanliness, changed the sheets before he came over. A “good girl,” he would tell me as he tightened his grip around my wooden wheel, our tandem dance down Dug Hill Road as habitual as breathing. Despite her good intentions, he never left her downtown loft as sated as he did from 3B. Rachel didn’t hide her filth; perhaps that’s why he preferred her.

I hoped he’d put a towel down when he came back.
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Darker than my norm, but the picture didn’t necessarily invoke sunshine and rainbows, either. 🙂

~ Victoria

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