Red Writing Hood: Choices and Consequences

The alternating red and blue lights came into my rear view mirror and my heart stopped. Instinctively, I pulled to the side of the road, even though all I wanted to do was put the pedal to the ground and floor it.

Away from the police, away from what was coming next.

Away from this life.

I sat and waited. My friend in the passenger seat was quiet-only moving to shoot me daggers with his eyes every few minutes.

My heart was beating again, though it had taken on the rhythm, and volume, of a bass drum. It pounded in my chest, in my throat. I swallowed hard but my mouth was dry. I was shaking, speechless, nauseous. In my side view mirror, I saw the police car's doors open, their flashlights fixed on me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, allowing myself to believe for just one second, that when I opened them, I would wake up, in my bed, and this would all have been a dream...a nightmare.

The officer tapped my window with his flashlight, snapping me out of my delusions and dropping me firmly back in reality.

"Ma'am," he asked, "please step out of the car."

I gripped the handle and pushed the door open, gingerly stepping out into the street, and, still unsure if my knees would support me, I leaned against the car for support.

I looked into the officers eyes. They were sad. He was not mean, he was not angry, he did not look happy in that moment. It was small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

I silently pleaded, but knew it would do no good.

"Please turn around. Hands behind your back."

I did as I was told and heard a sickening click. Moments later, my skin stung with the cold touch of metal.


This post was inspired by a prompt at Write on Edge: Red Writing Hood- Choices and Consequences. Write a story or memoir which relates to choices and/or consequences.