“Get out of the car with your hands up”

Those words sent my stomach plummeting down to the bottom of my shoes. Was he serious? What did I do? What could I do? I looked at the cop in my side mirror. He looked serious enough. One knee down, service weapon pointed right at my car. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I tried to remember what they told us in school. Hands out the window. Open the car from the outside. Step out slowly, keep your hands visible at all times.

“Sir I think there’s been some sort of mist-”

Pain. Searing, stabbing pain in my arm and I was screaming. Another gunshot cut through my screams and another lash of fire opened up on my shoulder. On instinct I dived across the hood of my car. Screaming all the way.

Another gunshot and the glass of my windshield shattered, raining down little, lethal shards over me. I looked at my arm. There was so much blood, I couldn’t even see the wound.

Heart, pounding, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The forest to my right bathed in flashing red and blue. The forest.

I ran for it. Faster than I ever thought I’d be able to. Ignoring the pain and the danger and the two more gunshots which followed me across the ten yards to the woods. I kept running, branches and brambles ripping at my face and legs, but I kept running. The only thing that mattered was getting away. I must’ve jumped the fence that separated the highway from the outside world, but I don’t remember. I just remember darkness, and pain, and wind, and fear.


Hello everyone! Today’s exercise was writing a story based on the line “get out of the car with your hands up”, which I found at writersdigest.com. I spent about 10 minutes on this one as well (seems to be a trend). Write your own and post it in the comments! I’d love to see what you guys come up with.

And prompts or exercises you want me to try? Let me know in the comments!

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