The Driver Drove by Ashley Medhurst

Spring/Summer 2015

The driver drove.

With her foot down, the wheels raced upon the blacktop, leaving traces of rubber in their wake. The road was clear and she was free to speed. Away. Away. She had to get away.

It would follow her, she knew for sure.

She couldn’t stop – it would come for her. She couldn’t run forever – it would chase her. She couldn’t face it – it would destroy her.

Turning off at an exit the car stalled. Brief though it was, the driver panicked. Her breath became heavy, he heart became a drum. Her fear soon abated when the car cried its way back to life.

The driver drove.

She saw it how it was before; its powder-pale face, its deep sunken eyes, its teeth – unnaturally white.

She saw it how it was after; a fragment of what it once was. A mangled powder-pale face, eyes that no longer lay in their sockets, shattered teeth – unnaturally white.

When would they come for her? The driver didn’t know. What would they do to her? The driver didn’t know. What could the driver do?

The driver drove.

Onto a country lane. The trees would shield her from the eyes that hunted from above. Minutes had passed, yet she had put many miles between it and herself. For just a minute the driver stopped the car.
A deep breath, or maybe two, were enough to settle her. She
felt sick and scared. She knew couldn’t stop for long. Soon they would be after. They would be cutting the distance between them. Closing in with every passing second.

The driver drove.

Through villages, across towns and into cities. These are the places the driver drove.

She saw it long before; its laugh magical, its happiness enticing, its life being lived.

She saw it shortly after; alone and cold. No laugh to enchant, no happiness to entice. No life to be lived.

The driver drove.

In the road it stood.
Not like before but after.
It looked at her, one eye hanging out of socket. Blood matted to its face. She thought she saw it smile. A smile full of broken teeth – unnaturally white. She blinked, once, and then again.

It was gone.

The driver drove.

On a road to nowhere – running from something she couldn’t escape. This is where the driver drove. With her foot down, the wheels raced upon the blacktop, leaving traces of rubber and just a little blood in their wake.

The driver drove.

She saw him before. An angel in disguise. A child to good for this world with every right to be here.

She saw him after. The angel she had taken. The boy she had taken from this world.

The little boy she killed.

The driver drove.


Ashley is an enthusiastic, diverse, young writer who is still working on getting his literary foot in the door. He has always been in love with writing and hopes that one day he will be able make a name for himself in an occupation he adores.