Numbered Structure

David checked his rear view mirror.  Speed limit 65 didn’t keep him from going 80.  He tapped fingers to the rapid beat of the music blaring from the radio.  Colors of the cars and trucks on the road formed an on going pattern.  David often lost himself in number analysis when he felt stressed. Three blue, two black, seven white, a gray.  Three two seven one.  He searched to match that pattern. He only used cars going in against him if he had gone three miles with out matching the pattern.  The car clock read two twenty-seven.  Not a match, off by a digit, missing a digit. He pondered how he could make that part of the pattern.  Sometimes distractions were distracted. He followed the rules to his own game and slowed down by five miles per hour.  He started over.  There, if he used vehicles coming up from behind him.  Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.  Five blue, two red, one yellow, two trucks. Trucks not in the sequence, disregard. Two white and two silver.  Five two one, two. Match that.  He checked the rear view mirror and began.   He checked mileage. There it starts with five white cars, two blue vans, one?  One, one, one. He searched. And there was a lone red car coming to pass him.  And now two.  He needed two.

He looked at the passenger of the car passing him.  He saw an arm come up. Two fingers.  Peace sign.  Two heads showed up in the window.  As he formed the thought that fingers and heads didn’t count, he saw a glint. The gun. Two shots. Did that make the match, then.  David would never know.  He slumped over the steering wheel, the car veered into the other lane of traffic, between two semis, off on the emergency lane, down into the  grassy swale.

The receipt stuck in the cup with the lottery ticket seemed out of place to the officer checking David’s pulse.  “DOA, call a bus,” he called to his partner. “Come look at this.  Pour Luck for the Bastard.”  The officer looked at the ticket.  52125212. A match. The lottery of pattern squared.

Numbers shape structure of existence. He was born on January twenty-third.  123,  ’45. Life metered out. And finally, death on June 7 ’89. The ambulance arrived, boarded him onto the gurney.  The tow truck, number 10, loaded David’s Lamborghini onto the flat bed. The driver handed the officer the claim check.  Caught in the search for the matching pattern the officer found it just as an SUV careened across the lane and rammed him. The officer was thrown into the air and landed in a heap. His watch stopped upon impact and  would forever read 11:12 AM. Numbers shape the structure of transformation.

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About Lisa

Writer, reader, baker, teacher.
This entry was posted in Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Numbered Structure

  1. Lisa Combs says:

    I wrote this story for Wednesday story challenge at http://www.storyaday.org
    Visit and read more stories. Comments feed the writer’s muse.
    Thanks for popping in for a ‘little story by Lisa Combs” today. Visit again soon.

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