As the starting pistol jammed, Claude commented that it was a better day to be driving bumper cars, so he stepped beyond the dashed lines to hail a cab, bound for the racetrack.
32, Red, that was what he told the boy at the ticket stand. He was handed the keys, kept in a lipsick case so they wouldn’t get lost, but Claude pocketed it, as a momento to add to his collection, and off he went. Circling the track, checking out the other drivers and the other car’s capabilities. He decided that the number 18 car would give him the best bang for his buck, so he veered across the track to sideswipe him, when suddenly there was a thunderous crash. It was Claude’s car. It was thrown into the rail of the bleachers, and Claude lay on the ground with a gash upon his neck. He bled hard and furiously, just as he lived.

The lit candle in Claude’s living room would still be burning long. However, now, the candle wax drippings told that his time was up… Wake Up, It’s Marathon Day! He awoke to the smell of burnt wax, shrugged his shoulders, sat up, still a bit confused, and wiped the goo from his eyes. “I should go to church today”, was all he told his wife, as he folded his number 32 runners tag and placed it in the drawer.
-dld o1.03.11-
from the prompt on my blog page.
Prompts – gash, momento, lipstick, candle wax
Start your writing with – As the starting pistol_____
Weave or incorporate – a thunderous crash


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