writer

Sydney Writer’s Festival competition entry- “write 200 words preceding ‘and I didn’t even get convicted’.”

Muffled cries from the boot. Whimpers, grunts, she was obviously awake. Was she struggling? Probably. Shouldn’t have taken that speed bump so viciously. Earlier, there had been a snip snip click thwokk and there had been no fuss, no mess, no fuss.
Long stretch, “California Dreamin'” playing on loop. One hand on the wheel, window down. Not ideal, the red dust gets in, see. But my flannie was a muddy tinge from before anyway. Air-con broke about 147kms ago. Woulda been stuffy back there.
Passed through a small town, incestuous things those. Couldn’t make a new start there, no, no. Couldn’t go back either, they’d have realised she was missing. Should really stop to fill up.
Petrol fumes reminded me of another time. Not this time, she was quiet enough.
Killed the motor, walked around the bowser, just about to refuel when-
Back headlight gone. Smashed out from the inside. Walked around to inspect when-
Blonde hair wriggled into the backseat.
Keep calm, don’t make a scene.
Screamed.
Act faster.
Another car pulled up, raised eyebrows.
“‘Mornin'”. Flashed a smile.
Refuel in the next town, decision made for me.
To be honest, that was the closest I got to CCTV, and I didn’t even get convicted.