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Breakdown Lane
by
Greg Richardson
He'd seen signs in the boy, son of his son. They have the same eyes.
"He in that one?"
The moment passed, his heart thundered in the blast of grit and diesel fumes.
"Next one." he whispered to the boy.
As his son screamed in Hell, his grandson stood wet and shivering in the dark beside him, watching the headlights.
He'd raised his son in the ways of the Lord. He'd cherished and chastised to no avail; his son had died in violent sin. Now there was this one. Blameless. Newly baptized in the ditch below.
Another semi approached.
"Here He comes, Issac."
"How can you tell, Grandpa?"
"It's white. He said He'd be in a white one."
A quarter-mile away, coming fast. He tasted fear.
"Will Jesus stop?"
"He'll stop for you."
200 yards. His hands shook as he lifted the boy from the asphalt in the growing light. For the first time he wanted no part of God.
He stepped into the blinding impact to cheat Satan.
Instead there was nothing.
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© Richardson, 2006
Greg Richardson is a transplanted okie living in Southern California. He works for a living and he's never submitted anything anywhere.