Prompt: cookies (or other baked goods), ten stacks of notebook paper, a detective, car insurance
The back end of the Camaro sat propped up, the bonnet thoroughly burrowed into the ditch. The rear quarter panel looked as if someone had scratched an ice pick along its length, black grooves tracing the molded fiberglass. Mud was caked in the wheel wells, large chunks of grass scattered within the rims.
The scent of burnt gunpowder wafted from the driver’s side door – or rather, where the door would’ve been if it hadn’t been unceremoniously discarded to the asphalt. A metal hinge where the door used to be was crooked to the side, out of place and disjointed like a hangnail. Blue and red lights pulsed against the yellow paint, the midday sun mostly blotted out by thick clouds.
Detective Thomas sat in his cruiser, idly flipping through the driver’s license and insurance card. He looked up, peering over his dash at the Camaro. He gave a sigh, shaking his head. He’d owned a yellow ’69 SS back in his youth, and it pained him to see a brand new one decimated. His attention snapped back to the license as a female voice crunched through his radio.
“DL looks clean, negative warrants.”
To the side of his cruiser, he could see the doors of the ambulance close. The driver inside was only a kid, way too immature to be behind the wheel of a sports car – the skid marks into the ditch proof of that. He reached over past his laptop to the side, picking up a stack of graded papers and a box of cookies that he’d found in the passenger’s seat of the Camaro.
He closed his eyes as he leaned back, saying a small prayer. His thoughts weren’t on the reckless kid, but rather his parents.
He didn’t want to have to visit a family today.