Out of Gas
It was already dark as he closed the car door, thankful for the red moon to light his way down the road. How stupid to run out of gas, tonight of all nights. Angry with himself for not checking.
This was unfamiliar territory but he knew the road followed the river for miles. Coming to a crossroads he stopped momentarily. He felt a chill in the air and heard a moan like an autumn wind high in the
lonesome treetops. The strange noise made him shiver. He was cold, having forgotten to bring a jacket, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing to attention. He moved on.
Feeling a presence, he halted turning quickly, but no one was there. Looking around cautiously he resumed his walk. It was then he felt the blow to his head and everything went black.
Christine Bolton – Poetry for Healing ©
Lillian is hosting D’Verse Poets Pub tonigh and the challenge is Prosery (not poetry) A short story of exactly 144 words excluding the title and we are to use one of the following lines from Carl Sandburg’s poem Jazz Fantasia "Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops" OR choose 2) "a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills". Promote Yourself Monday - Go Dog Go Cafe Image by Robbowolf from Pixabay