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Weekly Contest #56
My boots crunching on the refrozen snow and echoing back to me from the wood line is the only sound for miles. The 89 Wagoneer my grandfather bought me for my seventeenth birthday sat stalled and tilted two knobby wheels in the ditch. I had broken down about three miles from the edge of town. Gripping my key in the ignition I tried one last time to restart it before hopping out with my 38 and making sure not to forget my cigs. They tell you not to leave your car at night; don’t walk for help you'll surely freeze to death. Those words ar...
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