Night of the Dead
You say nothing and with your other hand, you place it on her shoulder. She looks up at you in surprise as you lean in and just hold her. She doesn't resist, and rests her head on your shoulder and closes her eyes, saying,
"Do you think he's okay?"
You say nothing and continue to hold her, and she doesn't seem to mind. Her shoulders felt so small and her hair smelt of strawberries. You finally break away when the door to the driver's seat opened.
"I hope you kids were keeping it PG in here," he mutters teasingly, and Miranda instantly perks up.
"You made it!" she cries softly, and you can't help but notice a single tear tracing along her cheek.
"Of course, this old man is tougher than you think," Mr. Hunter replied, laughing softly, and then suddenly he gasped painfully.
"Father?"
"I'm fine, honey, nothing's wrong-," he began, but trailed off as he clutched as his arm. It was bleeding badly.
"Oh! We have to tend to your arm!" Miranda cried, and reached up to touch her father's arm, and he jerked away.
"No time. We have to get going!" Mr. Hunter said and put the key into the ignition. The truck rumbled and coughed, before it started humming softly. And we did get going. And to say that Mr. Hunter's driving was even remotely safe-was a joke.
He drove like a crazy man; his turns would slam a person to the opposite side of the car if they weren't properly belted in. And you were that unlucky person to not have your seat belt on. You flew to the other side of the car, and ended up on top of Miranda.
Smooth. WAY smooth.
"Do you think he's okay?"
You say nothing and continue to hold her, and she doesn't seem to mind. Her shoulders felt so small and her hair smelt of strawberries. You finally break away when the door to the driver's seat opened.
"I hope you kids were keeping it PG in here," he mutters teasingly, and Miranda instantly perks up.
"You made it!" she cries softly, and you can't help but notice a single tear tracing along her cheek.
"Of course, this old man is tougher than you think," Mr. Hunter replied, laughing softly, and then suddenly he gasped painfully.
"Father?"
"I'm fine, honey, nothing's wrong-," he began, but trailed off as he clutched as his arm. It was bleeding badly.
"Oh! We have to tend to your arm!" Miranda cried, and reached up to touch her father's arm, and he jerked away.
"No time. We have to get going!" Mr. Hunter said and put the key into the ignition. The truck rumbled and coughed, before it started humming softly. And we did get going. And to say that Mr. Hunter's driving was even remotely safe-was a joke.
He drove like a crazy man; his turns would slam a person to the opposite side of the car if they weren't properly belted in. And you were that unlucky person to not have your seat belt on. You flew to the other side of the car, and ended up on top of Miranda.
Smooth. WAY smooth.