He was driving way too fast.
‘Are we there yet?’ called a plaintive voice from behind.
The tyres protested as he swerved this way and that.
‘Are we there yet?’ cried the little voice.
His ears were assaulted by the staccato rattling of rain on the windscreen. Gusts of wind hurled the car left then right as he fought to stay on the road.
‘Are we there yet?’
A fluttering owl shot towards him. He stamped on the brake and skidded to a halt.
‘Are we there yet? whimpered the little voice.
He spun around and gazed into an empty seat. No-one there. He began shaking. He was imagining things. Yes.
A Beethoven sonata wafted from the radio as he set off again passing the village pub then the crooked red post-box. Almost home.
‘ARE WE THERE YET?’ yelled a voice.
The headlights lights went out. Darkness. Pitch darkness.
A ringing telephone brought him to his senses with a start.
It had just been a stupid dream.
He stood and crossed the room
He picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.
‘Are we there yet?’ whispered a voice. ‘ARE WE THERE YET?’ it shrieked.
Sunday Photo Fiction is hosted by Susan Spaulding. To read what others have written this week, click on the blue amphibian!
Thanks to Anurag Bakhshi for the photo. I’ve taken the liberty of reversing the picture as we drive on the left in the UK! I’ve also moved forward 12 hours or so!