By Tipp Hex
The car became a symbol of his anger. She said nothing as each gear was rammed home like a punch to her face, the rev-counter diving into red-lined fury.
“Slow down Tom, you’re acting like an idiot,” she spat, her voice tempered by fear and leavened with contempt.
Tom ground his foot into the car floor and the engine snarled back its enthusiasm, its headlights lancing blindly into an onrushing blizzard. The snow and ice took its payment and the car began to pirouette as snow flakes dancing alongside.
Screams merged with tearing metal and wailing rubber, terminated by the gunshot of heavy impact. Then silence.
Alongside her in the snow, unable to speak or breathe, Tom watched a snowflake land upon his wife’s cheek and melt into a tear. No condensation formed in the cold night air from her parted lips. More than just an argument had been lost.