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A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays
The air in the truck was hot and dry and Amile and I were shoulder to shoulder, shoved together like two cigarettes in a pack. I kept my eyes on Amile and he kept his on the setting sun, as a result, they danced and flickered warm hues. The pain in my leg was a pulsing throb like a constant deep sigh and the car seats smelled like artificial pine and dirt after a storm. I turned on the radio to break the paranoid silence. The song was loud and the tempo was fast and only served to further sharpen the edge in my chest. “Do you think they'll remember her?” Amile's eyes remained on the horizon and in his hand he was fidgeting with a photo of his sister. “It's been so long, you know? Will they even recognize her?” His face was more serious than I'd ever seen before. He squinted as the last rays of light bled over the mountains then smiled at me. “I hope they have some answers. We’ll find out tomorrow.” I bit my lip and gripped the steering wheel anxiously. I wanted to think about the psychic's shop, or anything else for that matter, but with every movement Amile made I couldn't help but flinch. 'What if there is a killer sitting in my car?' I thought over and over to myself. The truck cut through the darkness, sending street signs into colorful blurs. The song changed to something slow and melodic and Amile Abelle hummed along. I glanced at him, “Did your sister ever mention a man named Edwa-” “Stop!” Amile threw his hands onto the steering wheel. The large animal hit
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