Fiction: Short Stories
by John Butler
With trembling hand, the driving instructor wiped the beads of cold sweat off his brow. It was not that it was a particularly warm day, in fact, now, as autumn drew to a close, there was that foreboding snap in the air that reminded us that winter would soon be upon us.
His face was a sickly shade of white and his eyes were closed in an unnatural tightness. For several moments he said nothing, then, making a visible effort to control his breathing, broke the long silence.
The driver, Miss Jarvis, an attractive young woman of about eighteen, turned in her seat and looked at him.
“Are you all right sir?” she asked in her best caring voice. At his command she had slammed on the brakes of the little red Fiesta and brought it to a shuddering halt.
So far, the examiner had sat through her test in stony silence. As he turned to answer her enquiry, she noticed his deathly pallor had slowly given way to an angry red. He looked like a ripe tomato about to burst.