Seizure (Part I)

I'm happy to unveil a short story I wrote this summer. While I was looking over a number of my stories, I noticed that I have a preference for writing zombie stories. I thought to myself, "Why not try a different genre?" And so this is my poke at the werewolf story. It's written in the style of Dostoevsky.

Hope you like it.

“Seizure”

Road Trip

Tess drove with sweating rage even in the rural town she lived in, and getting stuck behind Garrett Simpkins on 116, when his cell phone was cemented to his face, she pounded the steering wheel with her fist.

Soon, sensing malignant intent in Garrett, an unaccountable fury crowded her thoughts. She was convinced that, to prevent her from passing him, he was drifting over; positioning oneself so on this country road effectively transformed it into a one-lane. She turned her head in horror when, instead of joining her in her complaint, Maggie told her to calm down. But she tried to do it in a nice way, as related here:

“I mean this in a nice way—calm down. Now that everything is set up and my stuff is waiting for me and we’re on the road, we can relax and enjoy the trip—we’ve got all week to get out there. There’s no reason to freak out five minutes from home.”

Amanda, who was sitting in the backseat despite the fact it was her car, because had had her license suspended for too many speeding tickets, suddenly and peppily stuck her head into the front seat.

“I gotta side with Mags. If you keep this up, you’re going to have an aneurysm before we get out of the state. You’ve been acting like a lunatic all week. I mean, what is your deal? You were really bitchy with Dad when we left.”

She blew her bangs out of her face with a mighty puff, for she had little room to move her arms because of all the bags and suitcases pinning her in.

“Like I said before, that is a situation that has nothing to do with you two,” Tess said with what she hoped was inarguable finality.

“Nothing to do with us!” Amanda said incredulously, tapping Maggie on the shoulder and thumbing in Tess’s direction. “If this situation has nothing to do with us, Tess, then maybe you can explain to us”—she presented her palms—“why you’ve been glaring at Dad all week like he stole something from you. He can’t say anything without you barking at him! We couldn’t even have breakfast together this morning because you stormed out! What would it have cost, I ask you—to put all your issues aside for one morning? Someday you’ll learn that being on the rag doesn’t mean you get to act like a three year-old!” she mused, leaning her head back and rolling her eyes.
“On the rag, right,” Tess growled. “Every time I do something you don’t like, it must be Tess’s time of the month…”

For the next installment, click here.