The car drifted right, the thwack, thwack, thwack of the wheels juddering over cat’s eyes waking Janet.
She rolled her head forward, bones and cartilage clicking softly.
‘Jesus, what time is it Fergal?’
The car lurched into the next lane.
Suddenly Janet was blinking, trying to orientate, on-coming headlights blinding her.
Next to her, Fergal was slumped lifeless across the steering wheel.
‘Fergal!’
She grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to tug him back.
He barely moved.
Next, she tried heaving the steering wheel anti-clockwise.
A horn blared.
‘Fergal!’
She yanked him back, but then bones and cartilage exploded.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
Oh, that's jolting, Rob! Makes me wonder how long Fergal had been dead, and what happened to him.
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