Brett M. Christensen

The car sputtered and jerked to a stop at the side of the highway. The needle of the fuel gauge flatlined under the “empty” mark.

I’ve always felt compelled to find the shortest possible way to get from one place to another.

The bus hurtles down the highway. The driver focuses intently on the road ahead. Passengers chat, relaxing in their safe and comfortable seats.

Jimmy looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Just like yesterday, he was shocked at how old he looked.

He thinks he must have donned the lead jacket when he was a child, but he cannot remember a time when he has not worn it.