Above is the photo prompt from last week’s Writer Wednesday blog hop reveal. Below is my story that goes with it. Enjoy!
Jack leaned his head against the tattered headrest and looked out the driver’s side window. He took a slow drag off his cigarette and slowly released the smoke, letting the toxicity of his life wisp away through the open window. The morning air had quickly cooled his adrenaline rush, and now he was left to wrestle with the emotional aftermath– questioning his morals and feeling the heaviness of remorse spar with the temptation to do it again.
He turned his face toward the window and squinted through the sun-dampened fog. The pile of freshly disturbed soil wasn’t visible from this vantage point, so no one would likely discover his crime. At least not right way anyway. He wondered, though, if taking such a risk last night was really some disturbed way of crying out for help.
It wasn’t premeditated. Jack closed his eyes as the flashback formed in his mind. She was gorgeous perched up on that bar stool with long, wavy chestnut hair flowing down her shoulders. The microphone in her hand amplified her sultry voice that made him think of warm caramel. It was soft, smooth, sweet, and irresistible; he had to have her.
It was almost as if she could hear his thoughts because she looked right at him and she sang the words right to his heart—“You are loved.” After her performance, she’d come to find him and they talked for hours. While sexy, she turned out to be pretty conservative in nature, but he felt like he could tell her anything. There was something about her that made him want to confess all his sins to her.
Jack chuckled out loud to himself in the car. She’d even told him God had plans for him, that this God of hers was writing his story. “Let Him lead you to the next chapter,” she had said. “You will be pleasantly surprised by how it all ends, Jack.” The way she said it while looking at him… those round cocoa-colored eyes looking at him with pure understanding made him feel—safe. There was no judgment in those eyes. He’d resisted the urge to run his finger gently down the side of her face for fear that he’d actually stain her somehow. She made him feel worthy, and he almost believed this God was trying to finish out his life’s novel with an unexpected and redemptive ending.
Jack opened his eyes. What happened after that, he can’t remember. The memory of his actions always disappears and he’s only left with the evidence and aftermath. Evidence. He looked down at his feet; his shoes and his socks would have to be dumped. The dirty footprints would lead authorities right to him.
Maybe that’s what he wanted. A new plan. Jack looked out the driver’s window once more and let the butt of his cigarette fall to the ground. Maybe today should be the end of this story entirely and the beginning of the sequel.