Her mother once told her that it wasn't safe to hitch-hike.
People went missing all the time in the seventies, you know, she would say as she scrubbed the potatoes that would go with supper. You can't always trust people to do the right thing.
But the thing was, she was alone now. She had to do what she had to do.
A blue truck pulled up onto the shoulder of the road, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. A man in red Budweiser hat waved at her. "Where you goin', hon?"
She shrugged and pulled a coin from the pocket of her hoodie, tossing it upward with a flick of her thumb and snatching it from the air.
Her fingers dripped rust.
"I'm okay," she responded, waving him on. "Thanks for stopping, though. I appreciate it!"
"Okay." The driver tipped his hat to her and continued on his way, his engine revving a little as he pulled back onto the road.
She shook her hand clean, wiping her palm against her ratty jeans, and pulled a small notebook from her backpack, flipping through it until she found a blank page.
"Blue truck," she murmured to herself as she searched for a pen. She was triumphant a second later, and scrawled Blue truck. Rust. Omen? She snapped the book shut and put it back into its pocket. "This whole thing would be easier if you talked." She tossed the coin again and plucked it out of the air in the next instant.
It did nothing, because the coin was a dickhead.
That was fine. She was alone, that was true. But she wasn't stupid. She could take her time, and maybe the next one would be better.
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timeasmymeasure
Title: Flip a Coin; Original Fiction
Date: 2019-07-25 05:09 am (UTC)People went missing all the time in the seventies, you know, she would say as she scrubbed the potatoes that would go with supper. You can't always trust people to do the right thing.
But the thing was, she was alone now. She had to do what she had to do.
A blue truck pulled up onto the shoulder of the road, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. A man in red Budweiser hat waved at her. "Where you goin', hon?"
She shrugged and pulled a coin from the pocket of her hoodie, tossing it upward with a flick of her thumb and snatching it from the air.
Her fingers dripped rust.
"I'm okay," she responded, waving him on. "Thanks for stopping, though. I appreciate it!"
"Okay." The driver tipped his hat to her and continued on his way, his engine revving a little as he pulled back onto the road.
She shook her hand clean, wiping her palm against her ratty jeans, and pulled a small notebook from her backpack, flipping through it until she found a blank page.
"Blue truck," she murmured to herself as she searched for a pen. She was triumphant a second later, and scrawled Blue truck. Rust. Omen? She snapped the book shut and put it back into its pocket. "This whole thing would be easier if you talked." She tossed the coin again and plucked it out of the air in the next instant.
It did nothing, because the coin was a dickhead.
That was fine. She was alone, that was true. But she wasn't stupid. She could take her time, and maybe the next one would be better.