13th of May 2005
The man shoved the clutch all the way to the floor. Without being conscious of the showery weather or the road, the car run over the lit highway. Steve took a moment to observe the rain droplets reflecting the bright yellowish lights, drawing diffuse yellow spots on the windscreen’s surface. He diverted his attention to the shifting scenery. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; the ominous sky throwing thunders and outbursts of lightning frantically into perfectly aligned areas. Man’s thoughts were mixed and turbid, flashes of his preceding life marching in his mind.
The ring of his mobile woke him up from fantasising. He located it behind a bunch of clothes flung on the passenger sitting, snatched the phone with his left and without looking at its screen, answered.
“What have you done?” a voice lamented in the receiver.
“What I had to,” he said, letting out sorrow tears.
“It wasn’t your right. Please bring her back. Please, honey,” the woman whined.
“I won’t!” he replied, determined, “I cannot,” he finished the conversation but held the phone to his ear only to hear her cursing, swearing, imploring. As Steve ended the conversation, he found himself in an industrial area at the outskirt of the city. The rain stopped, filling the air with an electrical heaviness which made him feel awkward in his own skin.
The dashboard started fluttering, buzzing, sending errors on its screens. Steve smacked the hard plastic. A malfunction probably, he thought. He turned the key on, yet the automobile refused to start. The lights continued flicking, making him nervous. The man got out of the car, taking the time to search in his phone list for a particular number.
He couldn’t make the call; the signal was off. The air turned tropical, getting excessively hard to breathe. The ground split, bringing at the surface tremendous hot steam. He looked back, skin bunching around his eyes. A dense red mist crawled at his feet, enveloping him.
Steve picked up a growl and quick steps resounding close to him. He felt the oxygen cut off by a scaled hand squeezing his throat. Through the thick smog, he saw a face gaining contour. He wished to scream, but his body refused to listen.
Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.