Close Call

The traffic light turned amber. On any other day Geoff would have braked, but today something compelled him to floor the accelerator.

His wife, Janet, looked over, alarmed. "What are you doing?"

Grim-faced, Geoff focused on the road ahead. The light went red. Janet covered her eyes as the car shot through the intersection.

Safely on the other side, Geoff eased off on the accelerator and breathed out.

"What was that all about?" Janet asked.

Geoff was lost for words.

Glancing in the mirror, his jaw dropped as he watched a jack-knifing lorry careering into stationary cars at the intersection.

From Guest Contributor David Lowis

On My Way?

Speeding through town, the traffic light signals me to stop. I sit. Idle. Stone faced. I’ve been stuck here many times. On my way to the wedding. On my way to the police station. On my way to the hospital. To the hospital again. Even in the ambulance, I assume. On my way to court. Now, here, I’m stopped again. Alone. My right foot yearning to push the gas. I always obey the traffic light. Red light. Red blood. My blood he committed to spilling one soul-crushing punch at a time. Stupid traffic light. Suddenly, I get the green light.

From Guest Contributor Nancy Geibe Wasson