I was sitting in the driver seat of my beloved cherry red car. I love that car. I was checking a text message or something–I was parked, of course. Anyway, I was absentminded for a moment, not aware of my surroundings or the sort of people who might be lurking around that time and place. I did not even know in what time or place I was. Pathetic, I know.
In the corner of my eye, I vaguely saw a figure rushing up from the rear, left-hand side of the vehicle and perceived its shadow steal away the bit of sunlight glinting off the silvery accents of the center console before me. Sooner than my idle mind could register what was happening, the hand aggressively grabbed at the door handle, attempting to yank it open and presumably drag me out onto the parking lot and drive away with my precious little car. There was nothing I could do; it was little me, crumpled with fear, against a terrifyingly determined, strange, scary man who would never love my car as I did.
I reacted as any strong, confident girl would. I instantly recalled the simple self-defense attack strategies my dad had taught me. I clicked the door locked before the dude could get it open, rolled down the window at lighting speed and–WHAM! Kicked him in the face! Oh yeah! But before I could drive away in jubilant satisfaction at my sharp reflexes and superior physical prowess, I heard a BANG, and something clattered noisily. My head popped off—
No, it wasn’t a gun. My head popped off the pillow because my foot was caught in the window blinds and I was suddenly afraid I had shattered glass all over my bed. Simultaneously, my roommate shot up, startled awake by the ruckus, and lifted her eye mask in slumbering bewilderment and slight irritation at being woken in the dead of night. Realizing the sheer ludicrousness of it all, I began shaking with laughter and fell back asleep very relieved that my darling little car, the school dormitory window, and my foot were all preserved from harm that night.
C. C. Bennett
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