Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Angry (08/02/07)
TITLE: Road Rage
By Tiffanie Chezum
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I pressed the accelerator; a quick burst of power had me at cruising speed. This is nice.
Exhilaration tickled my thoughts.
I saw a blue van approaching the thoroughfare from a side street.
I hope he doesn’t. I rolled my eyes as he pulled into my lane. He better get that thing up to speed.
I continued at my speed, catching up to the other vehicle in a matter of seconds. “C’mon. Get it in gear.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. He isn’t even trying to get going. I forced an exasperated groan.
Frustration clouded my judgment
I moved to the left of the lane to see around the larger vehicle; a line of vehicles crested the horizon to close to pass. The minutes on the clock clicked by in rapid succession.
“Get out of the way!” My emotions welled up inside me like a volcano waiting to erupt.
Holy cow! What’s he doing? I threw my hands in the air. “Get movin’ grandpa!” I huffed. “I’ve got an appointment.”
Impatience jabbed at me.
I jammed my throttle to the floor. My car lurched at the slow vehicle; he didn’t speed up.
“C’mon! Drive the speed limit, not your IQ!” I slammed my palms against the steering wheel. What’s his problem? “Can we at least come close to fifty-five?”
Aggravation throbbed in my eyes.
The brake lights flashed on. Like a bull seeing red, I reacted. “We’re going slow enough! What are you waiting for?”
The van meandered around a curve in the road. I’m never go’na to get there! Why can’t he just pull over? A traffic signal in the distance blinked to caution. “We could’ve made the green if you were moving.”
Rage overwhelmed my senses.
I adjusted the radio. Music did not calm me.
I glanced at the traffic light. It’s green. It’s green! I tightened my grip on my steering wheel. “It’s greeeeeen!” I blasted my horn, “The gas is on the right!” I hollered, spewing venom with every word. “Get moving!” Beads of sweat rolled from my forehead.
Anger strangled my spirit.
I popped the clutch. My tires screamed as I whipped the wheel to the left and shot into the intersection. “If you don’t know how to drive, stay off the road!” My voice cracked through my dry throat.
I burst by the van in the opposite lane. Let him try and stop me. I swerved back into my lane just avoiding an approaching car. I bolted through town and cruised into the parking lot. Eight minutes to spare.
I sat silent, ensnared in fury’s burning clutch.
The sun sparkled through the stained glass as we entered the sanctuary. After the typical variety of hymns Pastor Benjamin stepped to the pulpit.
“I had a sermon prepared for today, but something happened a couple days ago and I changed my mind.” He clasped his hands on the podium. “I met a very unhappy young man while I was out looking for a new van for the youth group.”
“About ten years ago he watched as his wife and daughter were killed when their car was hit by a drunk driver. He became angry with God – bitter about life itself. He turned his back on everything that had been so important to him. He couldn’t understand why he was made to be so miserable.” He turned his head and cleared his throat. “I struck up a conversation with him while we were out on the test drive. I was making progress when an angry young man in some sporty little car came up behind us and began harassing us.”
Restlessness coursed through my veins.
The minister took a sip of water. “Finally the impatient youngster got in front of us,” he continued. “And on his back bumper was a bumper sticker - What Would Jesus Do. The young salesman didn’t say anything, but I could see the disgust in his eyes. I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to talk to him one on one like that. It’s sad, really.”
Regret washed over me.
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