The Day She Almost Died
Cold steam blasted from the back door of the taxi. Maybe the driver cackled. She leaned back in the seat. Decided that diabolical laugh was a trick of the wind. And the snow. The wind and snow.
Crusty wipers scraped across glass, a howling tunnel of a white world visible through the cracks front and center. Sides opaque. Back blurred. She held her husband’s hand as the cab driver merged onto the interstate, with two new souls in tow.
Ten miles per hour.
A horn blared, and everything lurched sideways. The world was dark. And slippery.
“Is this hell?” She whispered it.
“Je ne sais pas où je suis,” muttered the cab driver.
“Jesus Christ!” The husband shouted.
Another car. The width of a credit card between them. Perhaps it was a single snowflake that saved them from eternal damnation.
“Où suis-je?” The cabbie was mumbling again.
The car inched forward, into the swirling inferno of white. Lost in the wake of every other car/truck/van/lorry/moped/bicycle/bus going anywhere.
“Est-ce le chemin de l’aéroport?”
“How are we supposed to know the way to the airport?” The doomed couple shouted in unison. “You’re the cab driver.”
Always remember this: when stuck in a dastardly situation, it is a bad idea to yell at the driver.
Especially when the driver is Satan.
For Lucifer rotated the wheel. The errant taxi careened into a snowdrift. Stalled. On the interstate. In a pile of white where no one could see.
Lucifer turned around. Enveloped the couple with frozen eyes. And, flashed an icicle smile.
To be continued……….