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eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: Our slacker narrator has skipped out of work once again and is cruising the back roads when he comes across a car wreck that forces him to make a choice, the first real choice he's made in years, and one that may prove that he is a hero, in his own way...

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Raleigh News and Observer's Sunday Journal, 2000
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2003

14 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [18 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [26 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [4 KB] , Portable Document Format (PDF) [32 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [3 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [57 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [73 KB] , hiebook (KML) [19 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [29 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [3 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [4 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [32 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [9 KB]
Words: 1172
Reading time: 3-4 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

I saw it all happen when I came around a tight, tight corner on a narrow two-lane north of Chapel Hill. I wouldn't have been there at all if I hadn't skipped work, just kept on driving past the school where I was supposed to be a substitute teacher that day. What I saw was a car, a little red Festiva with a taillight already broken out, get caught on the lip of the road, jerk to the right, and plow down a steep embankment into the ditch. A part of me, the same part that made me cut out on my job, wanted to keep going and not get my lucky green shirt dirty, but when I saw a hand reach out of the punched-in passenger side, I pulled over and stopped.

My day so far had been pretty gray, but at least I hadn't butted my head into a windshield like the guy driving this Festiva just did. The windshield was a maze of tiny little cracks, and I couldn't tell if he was alive or not. From the shoulder of the road, standing next to my car, I stared at that ruined windshield without thinking for a few seconds. Then I heard a woman screaming, and I ran down the embankment, over gashed earth covered with broken metal and plastic, toward the wrecked little car.

The woman was trying to get the passenger door open, the whole time screeching like an alarm clock, one of those old-fashioned kinds that you had to smack on the top to get them to shut up. I yanked at the handle and the bent door flew open, almost popping me one in the forehead.