Stories by Sarah

Smashed

I waved goodbye to mum and noticed dark grey clouds in the frame of my windscreen.

It seemed rain was imminent, so I put my foot down on the accelerator and started the 20 minute drive home (depending on traffic).

As I snapped on my indicator and turned onto the motorway, fat drops splattered slowly, almost haphazardly on the glass.

The wipers moved back and forth clearing my view, and I gripped the wheel more tightly, bracing for the inclement weather.

A sudden bang, made me jump.

It was soon followed by another.

Then another.

Momentarily confused, I realised that the rain had now turned into glazed, white balls of ice. And they were coming down hard. Smashing into the bonnet and roof of my small car. Its boxy shell no match for the wild will of the hailstones. I guessed their diameter around 4-5cm.

Cursing, and scared, I looked around frantically for shelter. The steep embankments on the side of the road offered me no option. I saw an overpass ahead, and limped along cautiously, pulling up underneath.

With baited breath, I waited out the freak storm. The hail continued to slam down violently behind me, and the wind wailed eerily through the tunnel. I glanced in the rear vision mirror at the drivers behind me, their faces named with the same fear and concern as mine.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. Shaking, I pulled back out onto the motorway and drove the rest of the way home.

I emerged safe and unharmed, but the same could not be said for my car.

I take her to the panel beaters tomorrow.

By Sarah ©2019

The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 386

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