This will set up how I came across the idea for my story. Over 10 years ago, I was driving up to Oregon from the Central Valley of California with my younger brother Brian. It was summer and we were flying along, taking turns driving every couple of hours. Our Father was very ill and we were rushing up to see him so it was quiet in the car as I drove this leg of the trip.
Somewhere up near Weed CA, a man was standing in the median of the highway, holding a license plate, most likely debris left behind from a car crash. He looked as I describe him in my book. I kind of pictured a Nick Nolte type of character.
https://unsplash.com/photos/QaZ-b11A6Zo
Seeing the man, my brain started flashing this storyline that filled my head. I yelled at my brother to grab a pen and paper and to take notes. As we were driving down the freeway, I yelled thoughts as they came into my head. He scribbled furiously. A few miles down the road was a Rest Stop. We stopped and traded places. I then took my turn scribbling down my thoughts.
So, the stage is set. Please let me know what you think. I will also have a few questions at the end.
Small Salvation
May 1971. Central Valley California.
The man stood trembling in the shadows of the unkempt bushes along the median of a quiet country highway. The bushes swayed from the light, hot, dry wind that cropped up in California's Central Valley. A small craggy hill was alongside the road. It had been blasted out by the original road crew when the highway was first built. The cracked asphalt of the highway shimmered in the heat, it's patchwork of tar snakelike, almost alive.
The man appeared dazed and shaken. Sweat pooled on his brow and ran down his sun-baked nose, dripping as if a faucet. Despite the sweat and the searing midday sun, He was chilled to the bone.
A tattered license plate dangled loosely from his right hand. The State numbers on the plate officious yet faded. It belonged on an elementary school bus and the "vision" it brought him was one of horror. The memory of it roiled in his head and he suddenly felt nauseous, bile rose in his throat. He bent over and vomited in the bushes. Standing erect again He recalled this "vision." There had been a school bus accident with 17 children in it. Only the driver and a 6-year-old Mexican girl had survived. He could see the pretty young girl, her white dress spattered with the blood of her dead classmates, standing next to the distraught bus driver. They both stood stunned looking at the carnage in front of them.
https://unsplash.com/photos/bVk6C1emSxk
The man saw the accident again as clearly as in his vision... "the yellow school bus rumbling down the highway, speedometer at 55 mph. The bus driver's upper torso twisted around as he warns the kids to behave. He is unable to see the car in front of him suddenly swerve to avoid a landslide from the craggy hill along the roadway. To the driver, he was only turned for a second or two but that was long enough. In the rubble of rocks a jagged boulder, weighing several hundred pounds, gleamed wickedly in the sunlight. The man wanted to scream a warning to the bus driver but knew he would not hear. The impact of the jagged boulder on left front tire had thunderous results. The tire blew, violently yanking the steering to the left and out of the bus drivers hands. The left lower suspension collapsed, sending a great shower of sparks. The bus now lurches sickeningly to the left as the bus driver fights for control. The bus is now at almost 90 degrees to the roadway, tires screeching, signaling what is about to occur. The bus reaches its tipping point and teetering on its two right wheels for a moment, then rolls, over and over several times..."
The man blinks rapidly as if to wash the sight from his eyes. Tears stream down his already streaked face. He can still taste the bile in his mouth and holds back the urge to vomit again. The carnage seen in his latest "vision" was unfathomable. He felt the anguish of the bus driver but the sadness of the little Mexican girl tore at his heart. Her poverty-stricken existence now included abject sorrow for her dead classmates. The man knew what it was like to lose those close, thinking back on his dead family. He gave one last shudder and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. This "vision" would stay with him like an ugly scar, adding to the others, both physical and emotional, he already carried. The man bent over, unzips his green army duffel, and stuffs the license plate in with the others. He determined the license plate, though age faded, must be local. The last sign he passed walking along the highway said "Patterson City Limits Population 6,012."
He picks up his backpack, hoisting it onto his shoulders. Then with little effort, lifts the heavy duffel by the handle and purposefully strides down the highway, thumb in the air. He wasn't sure why, but something from that last license plate was drawing him to Patterson. Something about this latest license plate was different than the rest. The other "visions" had accidents in them, but he was never compelled to get involved in the lives of families or survivors. Something different, almost evil, was compelling him to search for the two survivors of the school bus accident. He felt the two survivors were not malevolent, but wondered who or what might be.
https://unsplash.com/photos/9XiN0r2NWSM
So there it is Steemians. The first excerpt from my book.
Question 1: Was this beginning too harsh?
Question 2: Could you tell that his visions are flashbacks and caused by his holding a license plate found on the side of the road?
Question 3: Does this beginning make you want to continue reading?
I look forward to any and all replies.
Patrick