Friday Fictioneers and I are back. One photo, 100 words, one story.
Ana’s hands slipped on the steering wheel and she jerked the truck back onto the road. Ben would never have expected her to take the old farm truck. But, he’d come home early in as foul a temper and went into the study to pour a whiskey. She was gone as soon as she heard the ice clink in his glass. Thank God, I left the gate open, Ana thought as she put her foot to the floor of the derelict truck. The sounds of bleating sheep and Ben’s furious honking faded into the distance, like a nightmare upon waking.