By Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
It’s dark, raining heavy; hail pellets are bouncing off the car windshield. Chuck, angry at Lily’s rejection, chugs a flask of whiskey, swerving while car horns honk.
“Screw you!” he yells out the window. Distracted, he veers the car to avoid a truck, and crashes into a guardrail. He awakes with a goose egg, and severe headache, but alive.
“What the hell am I thinking?” Chuck gets out of the car. He’s in disbelief at the wide-eyed and silent crowd; some bystanders are the drivers he cursed. On his knees, he begs forgiveness. They turn and leave him to his misery.
Hail will be pellets – always. How did oncoming traffic (drivers he swore at) get back so quickly. Why is he begging forgiveness? Writers can leave spaces for the reader to fill in, not the crux of the story.
Sorry, but your story didn’t engage me as there were too many anomalies.