A FRONTE PRACEIPITIUM A TERGO LUPI

amicitiae nostrae memoriam spero sempiternam fore

forsan miseros melora sequentur

forest fortuna adiuvat

alea iacta est

On the eighth of April in the year 2012, the boy, thickly disguised, walked down the street with a bag of fish and chips from the local shop, listening to music through his left earphone while his right swung from left to right, muted by the lazy traffic both on and off the road. It was a simple fact that, as he padded towards to road and crossed the street, all attention shifted from the quieting, familiar voices rapping and howling in his ear to the position of the vehicles. They slowed for him, granting him the passage that he had requested the instant he had neared the curb. As he stepped out onto the hot, sticky tarmac, he briefly lifted a hand with his slender fingers curled around blue plastic salt-speckled fork to convey his gratitude. Once he had mounted the other bank, the motorists carried on.

It was a simple fact that, on the eighth of April in the year 2012, at around three o'clock in the afternoon, a driver in mid-thirties sat in a silver Ford Fiesta with a satchel set on the front passenger seat and took their eyes off of the road just for an instant as their phone alerted them to an incoming call. But the phone was out of sight; the driver didn't know who it was and they were expecting a call from a friend. The driver looked towards the road again, kneading the steering wheel as temptation and alarm buzzed in the back of their mind.

They removed their hand from a nine o'clock position on the steering wheel and d for the mobile, keeping their eyes on the road. There was no need to pull over, they thought, because they wouldn't be answering the phone. Not unless it was that expected call. Just one quick glance at the screen was all it would take.

One quick glance at the screen told the young man that a curl of his fluffy russet hair had been nudged out of place by the playful wind, and a twitch of habit made him coax it back by taking the sides of the fork between pearly teeth while he combed it back, removing his cap for one moment. With that sorted, he tipped his head around as he studied himself in the black screen. Only when he was satisfied that his appearance was immaculate did he smile to himself happily before continuing on his way.

A vibration in his pocket announced a text. He stopped again twenty feet away, reading the name on the sender ID and beaming when he recognised the name. So familiar was the sender to him that he read it slowly in an inner voice that was not his own, registering a sense of reserved amusement from the word. It ended with the same tender valediction, XOXO.

Minus that, the message itself read, Hoot.

But the driver's did not. They finally managed to retrieve the mobile and the name was not the one expected. Nevertheless, the number was important and would require an answer. One click of a button was all it took. One distraction; the conversation began. The driver didn't want to stay on for long. Just long enough to find out what the caller wanted.

A word caught their attention: café. Café was a location, information that invited a meeting. They had to pause to listen to the context because they had missed some of the words, but it was an offer for socialisation and that was welcomed. Attention shifted back and forth from the road to the conversation. It only took a split second as another vital piece of information was delivered; the time of the social gathering.

In an effort to change hands to use the free hand to change gear, the driver failed to realise the car had been weaving between the curb and the middle of the road. No hands to steady the wheel permitted the car to glide closer to the pavement. The speed was unmonitored; thirty-seven miles per hour, and that was all it took.

LavenderGazelle

I've had this story in my mind a long while but I've never thought to publish it to AFF, until I remembered that I don't write simply for my own pleasure; I write so that the others around me may enjoy that which I write.

I enjoy conversing with my readers, so please feel free to drop a note or a message! Let me know what you think, let me know how you feel. If you're upset by something in this story (which you might be), write calmly or take a breather. Critique is an important tool for a writer to grow, abuse is not.

At the end of each chapter I'll likely drop in a quote for brainfood. My inspiration now is George Carlin so there might be a few from him. Think about them, let me know what you think!

That being said, please sit back and enjoy the story!