Relief
The car hit the bank as it skidded to a halt. Pete sat gripping the wheel, his knuckles steadily turning white. She'd stepped out of the twilight right in front of him. He had no chance to brake. Pete could not understand why there had been no sickening thud.
Minutes passed before Pete dared check outside. The homely smell of wood smoke greeted him as he opened the car door. Breathing in deeply the autumn air his panic started to subside as he saw another pale form cross into the passing headlights, fresh from the smouldering bonfire.
© 2002 Hal Westhead
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