The Drive Home

2015-01-19-bw-beacham[1]

They finally made their escape. Dark would come before they reached Anchorage.

“What was with them?” she said. “He acted sullen all afternoon. She didn’t say ten words.”

“I know,” he said. “They were fighting.”

An hour later, distant city lights shone.

“Whoa!” He veered to the right onto a dirt road, then drove to the top of a hill. He parked and flung open his door. “Come on.” He took her hand.

They broke through the trees and halted in awe before the Northern Lights.

“I’m glad we don’t fight like that.”

“Me, too. Thanks for this.” She turned.

They kissed.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

  •  This short story was written in response to the Mondays Finish the Story challenge, a flash fiction challenge where a photo and the first sentence of a story are presented each week.  The challenge is to finish the story using up to 100 to 150 words, not including the sentence provided.
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