No prompt used.
Challenge: Write a story in the style of one of the major Literary Movements and feature a theme of discovery or regret.
I chose to feature regret in realism.
I stared at the blood on my car, trying to figure out how a drive back home from work at midnight had made my car a deadly weapon. No matter how hard I tried, I could not remember seeing a soul on the streets until a human-shaped form had appeared out of nowhere and immediately smacked into the bonnet and windshield like a ragdoll. Aside from the death metal coming from the radio, the only sounds I remembered hearing were the screech of the brakes and the horrid crunches at collision.
I had killed someone.
I had killed someone and my car would never be clean from the evidence, no matter how thoroughly I washed it and got the dented parts replaced.
The police had said that it wasn’t my fault, that the man had been drunk, in black clothes without a single reflector and in the middle of my lane, that there had been no way I could’ve seen him and stopped in time, but it didn’t change a thing.
I had killed a man.
I should’ve taken the bus after all. If I had, that man might still be alive, or at least I wouldn’t have been the one to kill him with my car, the first car I had been able to afford without a loan.
I should’ve just taken the bus.