SUPER-SHORT STORY: Little Red Westfield Corvette

She notices the red sports car in which she sits is gradually coming to a stop. It is the end of the journey. All around her is in motion. Only she is still.

Now the man next to her puts his arms out to grab her. She weeps, her cheeks now virtually pasted with tears.

“It’s all over,” her beloved says.

She clutches onto the steering wheel, wondering how she can restart the motor. She touches the dashboard. She manhandles the gearbox. It’s all in vain.

“Come on, honey, I don’t have any more money,” her beloved man says as she pushes away his outstretched arms.

So that was it. Such a short journey. They end up where they started. It seemed like a few fleeting moments. What an act of futility. What a waste.

Now her head shakes violently. People walk past, trying to ignore the commotion of her tantrum. Her short brown curls are now gleaming with sweat. She is now bashing the steering wheel.

His patience is now in short supply. He wonders what he can do to make her stop. Why can’t she just face reality? It’s over.

In desperation, he places his hand in his pocket. It turns out reality wasn’t as he imagined. He feels the familiar shape of a small gold coin.

“Don’t cry, my dear, I have another $2. But you can only have a ride if you promise not to cry.”

Dad inserts the $2 coin. Jessica gets to have a few more moments of gentle rocking in the red sports car. Then they head home quickly so Dad and the grocery bags can head straight for the freezer before tonight’s iftar goes off.

(Completed 1:42pm at what passes for a foodcourt at Calamvale Central Shopping Centre.)

Words © 2011 Irfan Yusuf