Creative Outlet – a blog full of stories and personal musings

26Sep/110

Disaster – Burning – Taxicab – a short story

This is a short story based on the brainstormer found here. It's not been proofread or revised. Thank you, Mona, for suggesting these words.

It hit me before I felt it. Even though this New York yellow cab was out in the suburbs, it had somehow managed to find the one thing it could crash into without us seeing it coming; the road itself. A massive earthquake had just teared up the entire street, several layers of the concrete was either disappeared or raised. Thankfully for us, we smashed into the latter, instead of falling into the first. The taxi driver.. not so much. As I rushed my wife out the side door, I glanced back at our poor taxi driver, with the regular name of Bob. What a sad end for you, Bob. His face was buried into the steering wheel's airbag but the apparent hanging of his neck meant that there was no helping him.

I fell out, flat on my face onto the tar and kissed it harder than I had any of my girlfriends, including my wife. A real jawbreaker, as it felt like it was sitting in my neck, waiting for the rest of my skull to follow it and then the aftershock came. While trying to get up without scraping my face across the entire road. My wife, however, had other plans. She grabbed my arm, whimpering, and pulled hard to get me out of the car, just as I heard an earshattering WOOSH and I singed just about every hair on my head, including eyebrows. The cab went on fire. No, fire just appeared from out of nowhere. In hindsight, it was most likely the leaking gas tank as well as the very warm summer weather, plus reflections and all that jazz.. not pretty. She dislocated my shoulder as she pulled me away from the firing heap of metal, with my screams barely being audible in the next aftershock. My wife couldn't hold her balance and went on her glorious behind and, thank fuck, gave loose of my arm so I could try my best at not moving it as much as possible. The beforementioned aftershock did not make it so easy.

I pushed myself further away from the car, expecting an explosion and half crawled, half snaked my way to the pavement, onto the cool grass that could get me away from this chaos that my mind could not understand, thankfully. If the adrenaline wasn't pumping, I'd be too aware of my dislocated shoulder, my singed -- and most likely horribly burnt -- face, as well as checking if my mouth wasn't still laying right next to the cab, in what I can only expect is fully engulfed in fire right about now. After what felt like hours, I finally felt the grass on my face, turned around and saw my wife storming in next to me as another loud WOOSH appeared. "Bye, Bob" is all I could muster before I passed out from the way too obvious pain.