DSC_0611 - Copy (2)Lucy paced back and forth in her bedroom. On the dresser table was a crumpled piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. After a weak attempt to ignore the note, she picked it up–she had to stretch the paper to make sense of what Cindy had written. She knew the part of town where the party was to take place—upper class stuff. Cindy said the host was a stock trader who probably made seven figures—that was okay with Lucy. But she suspected the evening would end up like the others—too much to drink and a hangover of blurry flashes of what she thought had happened.

An hour later she was on the sidewalk hailing a cab.

She blurted out the address as she slid into the back seat. Two blocks passed before she took the time to check out the driver. From the side she thought he looked like a professor—horn rimmed classes, neatly trimmed beard. The name on the license was Thomas Dumont.

Three blocks passed while she considered the wisdom of asking the driver to reveal something about himself.

“Tell me, why do you drive a cab?” She could see his smile in the rear view mirror.

“I’m a starving medical student.”

“So, you’re going to be a doc?”

She never heard the answer.  A bullet exploded through the rear window.

When she came to in the hospital bed, a nurse was staring at her.

“You’re going to be fine,” said the nurse.

“Where am I?”

The nurse explained that she’d been struck by a stray bullet, adding that the taxi driver stopped the bleeding and rushed her to the hospital.

“You’re lucky he was a medical student.”

“Is he okay?”

“I’ll get him.”

When Dumont walked in, Lucy knew he was the one. They talked for a few minutes before he excused himself—he had to study for a final.

She spent the evening fantasizing about a relationship with this would be doctor. The next morning as she was about to leave the hospital,  the nurse handed her a note.

“It’s from that nice young taxi driver,” she said.

Lucy’s heart pounded as she unfolded the paper: Glad you’re okay. When you can, your fare was $37. There was an address, but no phone number.

She sat down on a nearby chair by the exit.

“Are you okay?”

Lucy looked up, her eyes were tearing so much she couldn’t see the face clearly.

2 Replies to “Friday Fast Fiction: The Fare”

  1. Good observation. I was trying to put the reader in Lucy’s head, sometimes a no-no in good fast fiction which should be all about the action that makes the story. Yes, this is the right site for those who followed the Twivelist. I publish fast fiction on Fridays.with serial fast fiction (Chartan) on Sundays. Thanks for coming to my original blog site.


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