A Rough Segment From a Dream (Blogophilia 16.16)
The siren seemed distant. An older Mercedes with the plate KBL 1765 was in front of us. "Hey, Sweetie. I'm going to lose this Charzard." She said with a grin. Swerving to the right, the tires on the Pontiac started squealing on the set pavement. She was serious about getting away. A quick flash. The motorcycle smacked the driver's side with a loud thump. The car the windshield cracked and grass filled my mouth. Everything was quiet. I turned my head towards her. Blood was pouring down her face. "Are you mine? The sound was garbled and choked. It wasn't clear whether it came from me or her. "Maybe." Came the reply. "It's all a whispered dream, anyway." Two men came up to the driver's side window. Everything went black.