I wasn’t lost, I just didn’t know where I was going. And other than the circles I had been driving in for the last hour, I had no direction. AFI, awaiting further instructions—suddenly, the instructions came. My phone connected to the car radio, dinged.
Highway 5 rolled along the ocean’s edge with barely room for a shoulder, but every few miles there was a scenic view pullout. I stopped at one of these and read the text.
“Death is the only way out.”
Well, then . . . this obviously wasn’t going to be easy. I stepped out of the car for some fresh air, hoping that a blast of oxygen would help me think. The wind was stiff, bracing. After filling my lungs with the salty air, I returned to my task.
Five miles down the road, I spotted my target—a run-down, weathered shack with a hand-lettered sign that read “Death.”
Karen Hydock
***
Outside, the wind blew like it was frantic to get somewhere other than where it was. I wished it would go—to that somewhere as it was taking me in memory to the day ten years ago when a tornado loomed in my rear-view mirror as I drove my junk-pile I called a car home.
It was a 67 Chevy that had seen better times, but it was what I had. It couldn’t outrun the storm bearing down on me. I could only hope for the best.
There was no best. The brutal beast that is a tornado sucked my vehicle up. Whirled me around and threw my head against the window. I succumbed to darkness.
When I regained my senses. I scanned the area around me. The sun shone, and a rainbow graced the sky.
But how in God’s name did I get in the middle of the ocean?
Christine Howard
Write On the Edge 