Just a short story written for my Techniques of Fiction course last year. The prompt was "Crime Scene." Enjoy~

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The Family Car

July 23, 2014

A 1987 Plymouth Reliant station wagon is parked behind an elementary school. It's two-thirty in the morning and the entire three-stoplight town is at home, sleeping, except for the three teenage boys chilling inside the beat-up Reliant K. This is the third time this week they've snuck out to sit behind the very school where they met and befriended each other.

Charlie Wagner, tenth-grader and current owner of the Plymouth, hacks and swipes frantically for a water bottle after hitting the bong too hard. The dank fog from his throat permeates the smoky vehicle. James and Trey cackle at their friend, partially because Charlie's plight is a little funny but mostly because they are too stoned to consider anything unfunny.

It's not so funny when blue and red lights shine in the cracked rearview mirror.

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July 23, 2009

A 1987 Plymouth Reliant station wagon is parked behind an elementary school.

It's two-thirty in the morning and the entire two-stoplight town is at home, sleeping, except for the two young adults making out in the back seat of the dirty Reliant K. This is the second time this month they've snuck out to sit behind the very school both attended at different times.

Jessica Wagner, eleventh-grader and current owner of the Plymouth, wrestles her puff-sleeved tee off between hickeys. The sounds of jeans' zippers, wet necking, and a torn plastic square crinkling underfoot permeate the steamed-up vehicle. Jessica smiles at her boyfriend, partially because what they're doing feels so good but mostly because getting any attention from this twenty-something man makes her feel so sexy.

It's not so sexy when blue and red lights shine in the scraped rearview mirror.

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July 23, 1989

A 1987 Plymouth Reliant station wagon is parked behind a dark, empty lot. It's two-thirty in the morning and the entire single-stoplight town is at home, sleeping, except for the disheveled newly-weds hiding inside the pristine Reliant K. This is the first time ever they've sat behind this empty lot, or even been in this state.

Charles Wagner, fugitive and stealer of the Plymouth, wipes the sweat from his brow and goes over his cover once more. Coarse whispers of "My name is Charles Wagner and this is my wife Joan, we're from New York City but had to relocate to somewhere quieter for my health," permeate the vehicle. Joan shuffles the forged documents and plates and pictures in her lap absentmindedly, partially because she's already memorized their lies but mostly because she's thinking about how this town seems like a quaint place to raise a family.

It's even quainter when the empty lot gets turned into an elementary school.

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