I Started Writing To A Convicted Murderer Out Of Boredom, Now I REALLY Wish I Just Stayed Bored
By Vanessa Doe
“I told you I would see you soon, Anna,” a husky voice said, emerging from the darkness. He was standing in front of me; the only thing separating us was a windshield. I took a deep breath and looked at him – his eyes were dull grey, his hair a mix between brown and grey, and he had stubble on his face. At one point he must’ve been attractive. My mouth was clamped shut, my throat dry. I swallowed three times before having the courage to speak.
“Why?”
He grinned at me, his chipped tooth visible. “You reached out to me, remember?”
He walked to the driver’s side, putting his hand on the handle and pulling it. I closed my eyes for a split second, but after two tugs, he gave up. I watched him as he circled the car like a shark ready to attack his prey. He was holding something in his hand, I sat up straighter, noticing it was a red gasoline jug.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to myself realizing he was going to set this car and myself on fire. I put the car in reverse and slammed on the gas, the tires didn’t move, the car jolted but that was it.
My tears blurred my vision, I was going to die here and it was my own fault. I should have never reached out to him in the first place, stupid me! He stood in front of the car, spilling the last of the gasoline on to the hood.
“If only you hadn’t been home…”