Not entirely satisfied with this one. Just seems a little empty, but I wanted to make sure I wrote something in addition to some pages in my book, and I did. The Muse is a bit dry right now.
I let the engine roar a little louder, and the wheels turn a little faster than I should have, but the road was empty. I wasn’t doing much over ninety. The green dot in the distance marked the intersection before the one that I could turn left at and be home. Three in the morning, I think.
My headlights knocked against the trees and grass, beating away the shadows like a desperate little army. The light was still green. I knew that if I gunned it just a bit faster I might pull through as it was just about to turn from yellow to red.
I was almost home anyway. I kept it at ninety five. I was far enough to stop when I saw it turn yellow. If I had hit the brakes, I would have stopped well before, but I figured the rush of blowing the light would probably be the perfect end to the drive.
So, to answer your question: Yes, I feel guilty. Very guilty. Drunk on guilt, maybe. I’m still in too much of a daze to grasp how real this is. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be pulling through the light at just that time.