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...mind, like an ancient typhoon.

            He looked peaceful, listening to a pair of headphones. He tapped his leg, and looked out the window at the forest we were passing. The same features I had described, panic-stricken, to my dear Al. There was not a doubt in my mind.

            The make-up had been washed from my face. My hair was now tied back in a bun. I was wearing a clean set of clothes. I wanted to count on the fact that he would not recognize me. Is that enough to save me?

            I had to make a decision, here and now. My right hand reached into my purse, and tentatively clutched the can of pepper-spray Mom had given me.  My left hand, however, trembled with the urge to strangle him. And my mind pondered the deceitful possibility of befriending him or beguiling him enough to figure out who he is.

Strangulation Like There's No Tomorrow

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Author Guidance for this Story

ireneintheworld There are several distinct threads in this story; the husband's, the mother's and the wife's - all with different past and future possibilities. I would love to see people write the other points of view, and continue on from Dysphemism's great slant.

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