BLACK ICE by Pixie J. King

Black Ice


The motorway was gridlocked from the Christmas Eve rush hour. Red lights and icy steam filled the roads. Angry drivers were desperate to get home from stressful office jobs.

Dexter Simmonds tapped impatiently against the steering wheel of his Nissan Terrano as he waited for his wife to answer the phone. ‘Hey honey, I may not be able to get home, the traffic isn’t moving at all. I shan’t be getting home fast anyway. Send my love to the children, take care, Dex.’

He growled; he hated talking to the answer phone.

Hours later, Dexter managed to leave the motorway, and he drove through the long country lanes home, the faint glow of the town in the distance. He couldn’t wait to see the faces of his children; they were going to love the presents he’d bought them.

Conditions on the road were treacherous, with the car’s headlights unable to penetrate through the thick fog, the darkness eating at the car’s feeble light. It had snowed the night before, the gritters unable to access the small and winding road. Beneath the glittering frost, black ice lay hidden. Heavy fog descended over the hills, hanging over the trees like a shroud.

Dexter drove carefully around the chicanes in second gear, before finally reaching a straight, but icy road. Snow drifted through the beams of his headlights. He shivered in the cold, despite having his heaters on full blast, felt the car slide along the ice. He swallowed; all he wanted to do was go home to his children. He hadn’t seen them in weeks because of his job.

He heard his mobile ring, but ignored it. He couldn’t answer it, didn’t want to take his hand off the wheel in these conditions. The ringing eventually stopped.

He wound his way around the last chicane before he reached his home town, and the phone interrupted his concentration again. This time he answered it, looked away from the road for a second.

The car jolted, skidded. He dropped the phone, fought to bring the car under control, narrowly missing the trees that surrounded him. The car rolled onto two wheels, slewed towards the edge of the cliff. Dexter laughed nervously as the car hung precariously over the edge, the darkness looming below.

He opened the door to get out, felt the car wobble slightly. He froze, frantically trying to think. He was only a few minutes away from home, he couldn’t go now. He heard his phone ring again, knew it was his wife Marie. He leaned down carefully, plucked the phone from the floor and answered it. He placed it to his ear, heard the scraping of metal against the rock.

Dexter shrieked as the car sank forward and down. The vehicle plummeted, glass smashing out of their frames, the grinding of the metal against the rock, rubble falling with him. Sparks flew out like deadly fireworks, lighting the darkness beneath him.

Dexter stiffened as he went down; felt his body being battered against the car, shards of glass slicing his skin. He heard his wife screaming on the phone. He wanted to say goodbye, but he felt his grip loosen around the phone as it smashed, images of his family flashing in his mind before the blackness took over.

The car combusted into orange and red flames, the explosion echoing through the darkness; black, deadly smoke billowing out. Tyres and debris snapped off, the deafening noise sparking an avalanche.

He was only metres away from his home.

Now he was metres away from heaven.


BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com
Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try http://mywarpedways.blogspot.com