In this second of two posts sharing the writing I did during a writing class this past weekend, I experiment with poetic techniques of sound and rhythm. The prompt involved completing the scenario of a couple having a fight then going for a drive, happening upon a deer in the middle of the street.
Jasper drove his usual 10 miles above the speed limit and Nancy kept her usual silence even though it was a particularly winding road. This time, her silence was punishment—punishment for the things he had said. If he had an accident and damaged his precious car, it served him right. She look out the passenger side window, watching the forest blur past, green streaks punctuated with streams of light from the setting sun.
She felt him accelerate, bait for a trap, a trap she was not going to fall for. She kept her mouth shut tight. They rounded a corner, and she noticed he didn’t let up. She turned her gaze to the road—silent, but ready to sound a warning.
As they rounded the turn and the grocery store came into view, she saw it. Brown. Standing there. She opened her mouth, but there was no noise. Jasper said, “Shit” and turned the wheel hard to the right. The deer stayed in its place as they drove onto the shoulder of the road. Gravel, like bullets, hitting the underside of the carriage. Ptt, pttt, ptt.
Clear of the deer, Jasper turned back onto the road. Nancy kept her mouth shut, trying to calm her breath and heart. He said, “Sorry.” She nodded and put her hand on his khakied thigh.