Misty

A metallic scrape shatters our quiet post-prom moment as an unmarked sedan pulls up behind us, its red taillights illuminating a fresh, shadowy handprint smeared across our rear window. As a tall silhouette holding a heavy object steps out into the pouring rain, I squeeze your hand and whisper for you to stay low. If they head for your door, put the car in reverse and floor it; if they move toward mine, we bolt for the dark tree line. What do you see on your side?