Beads of sweat glistened on Arnie’s forehead as he drove away. Behind him on the road lay a dying man. The halo cast by the neon street lights bathed the body an ethereal glow, a saintliness in death. The purity made Arnie’s faith quake.

Red light.

Slam on brakes.


Hunched forward in the car, Arnie prayed for salvation and sobriety. If he had stopped, bang goes his license.

Fingers ranted a military march at the door handle; the door-

‘Get out, NOW.’

More fingers grasping clothes, dumping him into the street. His car screeched away to a new destiny.

©DJA 2016



From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories