Sign of the Times-1100 Image by Christine Renney

I ease my foot off the accelerator and begin to slow down. The driver behind sounds his horn and I watch in the mirror as, gesticulating wildly, he pulls back. But locking his headlights onto high beam he edges closer and closer still until I can’t see. Squinting I lean close to the screen and I focus on a spot of light, the size and shape of a rugby ball that somehow, despite the glare, is managing to find its way and I follow.
I suspect that the road ahead is clear and he could easily pass, let me be, leave me to draw to a stop and abandon the car which, I suddenly realise, is what I intend to do but I don’t want him watching.
Slowly, ever so, ever so slowly, I come to a halt and still blinded I turn and peer through the rear screen. I suppose he can see me, my silhouette at least. I must be clearly defined in the bright and harsh blaze, like a convict exposed whilst attempting to escape, caught in that half crouch, uncertain as to whether he should still try for the wall or make his way back toward the cell block.
I shuffle around again and now all he can see is the back of the seat and the top of my head. I sit still, determined not to move, at least not before he does.


5 thoughts on “GHOST LETTER 20

  1. chrisnelson61 May 3, 2015 / 8:54 am

    I love the analogy you have used here, Mark – I feel that it captures the tension excellently. Expectantly, like the end-game, we await the next move!

    • markrenney1 May 5, 2015 / 4:55 am

      Thanks Chris. More Ghost Letters to follow, I hope.

  2. Carl D'Agostino May 6, 2015 / 7:18 pm

    This happened to me one night on fairly vacant stretch of highway. A semi truck hit me with bright lights from behind. I could not move or lane change being blinded in mirrors. I was locked in his path. Musta tailed me 30 miles like this. Slowed to 20 mph and he finally passed me to torment someone else. What a monster. What a dreadful experience. It seemed like attempted murder to me.

    • markrenney1 May 7, 2015 / 4:19 pm

      Sounds like a terrible experience Carl. Thankfully this a fictional piece. Sorry for sparking such an awful memory. Regards Mark.

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