Left Was Right
Under the searing sun, they staggered down a rutted country lane. She wobbled in stiletto heels, formal gown and blue chinchilla fur. He in formal attire wore patent leather dancing slippers. They were tipsy and struggled to keep their balance.
Her non-stop accusations were about gasoline, oil levels, coolant, and wrong turns.
"If he had only asked the old man at the general store for directions. They would have made it to the wedding on time or at least the reception. They'd taken a wrong turn and were out of gas. They were lost." She harped.
After his car died they had stuck out their thumbs and hitchhiked a lift for a short while. His and her abusive squabbling caused their burly benefactor to kick them out, dumping them on this god forsaken short cut.
At long last, they came to a 'V' in the road. Keep left or turn right? They stood bemused in unaccustomed silence. Each looked into each others blazing belligerent eyes.
Breathed in unaccustomed unison, aware they had to follow the same coarse if they were to stay together as husband and wife.
He stumbled to the left fork. She dithered, made a false start to the right. Watched his form receding on the left road. He never glanced back. Panicked, she made an abrupt turn to the left, and her fashionable slim high heel broke off. He was nowhere to be seen.
"Forked." She sobbed and collapsed on the dusty road.
submitted at 11:03pm
15 March 2011
John D. Brooke, is an expatriate Canadian living by the Sea of Cortez in Baja California Sur, Mexico. He was a senior advertising scribbler and is now an emerging writer of poetry, flash fiction, novels, and screenplays.