Portia Steele Award Organization(c)

Second Place Winner, Prose

Five Minutes
by
Margaret Skipworth
East Yorkshire, England

"How much longer?"

"Five minutes. Can't go any faster in this fog."

Debbie slumped back in her seat. She felt as if she'd been in the cab forever. Five minutes? Would that give her enough time to catch the train?

"Shit! No!"

Debbie's head jerked forward. The seatbelt gripped her chest.

"You all right?" The cab driver opened the window and peered out.

"I'm fine." Debbie sighed with relief. "What's wrong?"

"An accident. Can't see much."

Bill pressed his handkerchief against the gash in his temple. Blood spurted through his fingers. He groaned. He'd never forget the sickening thud when his car hit the motorcycle. Why did he let that barman talk him into staying another five minutes? 'Just one more - for the road.' Had he killed someone? Oh, please, no...

It was cold on the sidewalk. Damp too. He could feel the wet inside his leathers. He couldn't see his bike. Everything was a blur. He wished someone would sweep the fog away. He'd tried to save five minutes by taking this route. Stupid idea. Shouldn't there be an ambulance? He could hear crying. A long way off. The fog was closing in. Black. Nothing.

Zoe stroked her palm along her stomach. She wanted to scream that life wasn't fair. But she couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything. Her husband, Matt, had offered to do the shopping. He'd told her to rest. But she was sick of resting. Besides, it was only a five-minute drive to the mall. Matt was painting the nursery. No point now. Zoe closed her eyes, her hand falling away from her stomach as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Simon tried to ease himself out of the driver's seat. He pulled a face. He was trapped. He was surprised how calm he was, considering he couldn't feel his legs. If he'd left the office five minutes earlier he'd have missed this pile-up. No chance of promotion now. He could say goodbye to the new car...and the long hours and stress and ... he wondered if Clare would mind if he had to spend the rest of his lite in a wheelchair. Good sort, Clare. He treated her badly. He smiled. If he got out of this alive he was going to change all that...

"Looks like you're going to miss your train. We'll be stuck here a while."

"It doesn't matter," Debbie mumbled.

"You could catch a later one."

"Can you turn round? I mean, can you take me back?"

"Sure. If that's what you want?"

"Yes." Debbie glanced at her watch. Five minutes ago she'd been prepared to give up everything to start a new life with a man she'd met on the Internet. The accident had stopped her. It was fate, she thought. She had to go home.

"OK. You're the boss. Your trip? Was it pleasure or business?"

Debbie felt tears well up in her eyes. "Nothing. Nothing important."

Five minutes.

Not long.

Long enough to change five lives.

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