Sue Vincent has chosen yet another gorgeous photo for her #writephoto prompt this week, and here is my response:
The Third Time We Choose
She was scared.
Terrified, if she was being honest. But she’d known she couldn’t take another minute stuck in that place. It had felt so good walking into her manager’s office, seeing the surprise on his sweaty hated face when she’d told him she was leaving.
Good luck to him. Or not. She really hadn’t cared at the time, the bubble of euphoria in her chest lasting until she’d got home and put the key in the door and remembered ‘he’ was there. No doubt half asleep on the sofa as usual, half-empty beer cradled in his slack hands. He’d been handsome, once, she remembered. Taking her breath away. But now all he took was what was left of her spirit.
Before she’d been able think about it, before he’d heard her at the door, she’d pulled the key out and turned back to the car. Getting in, she’d put it into gear and driven off, not looking back. Again with that bubble in her chest, like champagne bursts of potential, of what could be.
But once again it had dissipated and now here she was, driving along a country lane going who knows where. She should just pull over, she thought. Take a moment to figure out what she was going to do. Maybe even turn around and go home. After all, it wasn’t so bad, was it?
She started to slow the car, the bubble in her chest replaced by the leaden grey of reality. Then, as the road ahead of her curved, golden light, like champagne, like flames, like the promise of a life yet to live, shone through the tunnel of trees, a beacon leading her on.
It felt like freedom. Speeding up again, she drove towards the light, making her choice for the third time.
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