While I try to jump-start my refried brain, here is a flash fiction intended for your enjoyment. I hope you do.
This story is copyrighted by me. Please don’t use it without my permission.
What madness drove me to it? What madness could drive a man to murder someone they didn’t even know? The barest madness of all: the madness of being human, the madness of inattention and disregard for common sense, the simple madness of everyday life.
It was the madness of one more beer after work because the sky was dreary and the drizzling rain chilled my bones, because my boss is a jerk, just because. It was the madness of driving too fast because I was late and supper would be cold and she would be pissed. It was the madness of being too self-absorbed to see that the light was red until it soared overhead like some gaunt bird with eyes of rage, screaming futility and death like tires on wet pavement.
Then you were there, rising from the mist like my personal white whale, as I, your Ahab, sailed across the slick asphalt sea to our first and final meeting, foot driving the brake pedal helplessly toward the floor, driven by my madness to encompass your doom.
You looked at me, deep into my eyes, deep into my soul, and you knew me in that moment. And I knew you. I knew your love for your family and your hopes and dreams for the future. And I loved you, then. I loved you helplessly and hopelessly, even as I killed you in a final thump, a last shriek, an ultimate shatter, even as I sacrificed you on the altar of my own stupidity.
I learned your name afterward: Joan Fleming. What a small, pale thing, a name, but I keep it alive. I saw you in your husband’s eyes and your children’s, and I know they keep you alive in their hearts and in their minds. All I have is your name and your face and your blood on my hands and the love we shared for that merest instant.