Ann Johnson - Writing Exercise #4

“Fucking let me out of the truck!” his fist pounded on the dash and his voice cracked as he screamed, a grown man. The truck kept moving, her breath going out in deep sighs, the red in her face fading as she kept her foot on the pedal, allowing herself a small smile. He beat his elbow against the window and the cab shook and she kept staring ahead, both hands on the wheel, knowing he had the strength to break the glass, to break her, but curious if he would do it, curious how he would respond when the cold sea air rushed in to fill the narrow space between them. With each moment she held out, they got farther and farther from home.