Jennetta Younge - Writer

This particular stretch of road was not suitable for speed; the bends were too sharp.  Normally, Brent would have been able to handle such a minor oversight.  He had a standing membership with the Hollyhead Speedway Racing Club where he had spent the rare weekend reviving the engine of his MG on the soggy five-mile track taking the sharp curves at ninety miles per hour.  Anger and speed, however, do not mix.  Suddenly, Brent could no longer negotiate the bend.  

Brent’s hands gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles popped out as if they were about to break through the skin of his fleshy hands. Brent misjudged the sharpness of the bend in the road. He pumped the brakes to no avail. He tried desperately to regain control of the car, but it was already too late.  A wave of sickly fear engulfed Brent’s body as he braced himself against the rigid seat.  His two-seater lurched forward and somersaulted like a gymnast doing a triple tumbling pass. The sports car came to rest on the bank of a stream.

To be continued…

“Your eating is out of control, Brent. The midnight runs to the Shish Kabob restaurant, and never mind all the Toblerone Bars, and beers. Do you even care that your belly is beginning to hang menacingly over your belt?”

“I’ll ignore your acid remarks, thank you very much,” Brent replied.

 Pepper had been waiting for the opportunity to break up with Brent, but the time was never right.  This weekend, however, Brent had made plans for them to visit his family –without consulting her.  

“I am sick and fed-up with you thinking for me,” Pepper announced loudly.

“What does that mean? I thought we had a good relationship…,” Brent said.  

“Your mother treats you like a schoolboy, then she pokes her nose into our business.  I don’t care if you are her only child-,” Pepper replied.

“What’s eating you? My mother did spring the invitation on us a bit late, but we do go out most weekends with your friends.  And I never leave you home like what some of my friends do to their girlfriends-,” Brent said.                                  

“Forget what your friends do or don’t do. Your mother is overbearing and her stuck-up attitude grates my last nerve,” Pepper informed Brent. “I need a change,” she concluded and swept her long, brown hair away from her face.  

Brent could not believe this was happening.  He clenched his teeth and looked at Pepper through the narrow slits of his eyes.

“Pepper, you’re unreasonable,” Brent seethed, “I could say the same bloody spiteful things about your mum, but I’m too much of a gentleman.” With that, he grabbed his coat and stormed out the door without so much as glancing over his shoulder.  

To be continued…