The author of the Unphotographable website (linked below) posts description of photos he DID NOT take. Very inspiring. I enjoyed this entry in particular.

 This is a picture I did not take of a black hearse with tinted windows traveling at speed down a country road toward an oncoming storm as the morning sky darkened in advance of a tornado watch, and as the hearse sped through incoming rain toward the storm and the edge of Alabama, it was chased by an intrepid State trooper, lights blazing through the now downpour, police siren wailing as the wind of their chase passing twirled piles of wet leaves at the roadside into small spirals, eddies of their own.


 Grandma’s Bucket List: The Hearse

Flash Fiction by Voni Harris


She hadn’t reckoned on the rain. Nor the tornado warning. But she was almost there.

The fact that her high-speed vehicle of choice was a hearse with tinted windows made it all the more exhilarating. She’d never driven one before, but when Eddie suggested it, she knew she had to say yes.

The whole discussion had happened so fast.

She was driving in light rain, but the clouds ahead were black. She didn’t want to spin out on the wet leaves girding the road, but she couldn’t slow down if she wanted to wanted to reach her goal. And she needed to reach her goal. The Alabama state line was the agreement—even if that’s the direction the tornadoes were coming from.

95 miles an hour…check.

State troopers in pursuit…check.

So far, so good. There it was. The welcome sign to Alabama. She gave the gas an extra push as she crossed over.

 Alabama state line…check!

 She eased up on the accelerator, let the hearse slow down easily, then gently crossed the median and drove herself sedately back across the state line to where the troopers were waiting indignantly.

She tried not to smile at their angry faces as she pulled to the side of the highway.

 She tried not to grin when they gaped. She must have been quite a sight with her gray hair, her old-lady sensible shoes, and her apron, still floury from baking bread with her granddaughter, Jewel.

 “Hello officers.”

 “Lady, what do you think…” The deputy teetered on the brink of indecisiveness, between the need to issue a lecture and the need to respect his elders. She could see it in his face.

 The second officer closed his cell phone and interrupted. “Sir? Dispatch just called. Eddie did give her the, uh, use of his hearse. It’s not stolen.”

 She smiled primly. “I understand you will be giving me a speeding ticket, and perhaps a ride back to town?”

 Just then, on the other side of the highway, her nephew Eddie and his wife pulled to the side of the road in his VW bug. Jewel was in their back seat, rolling with laughter.

 Eddie got out of the bug and walked over to the her, and she tossed him the keys to his hearse. “Eddie Jenkins Funeral  Home” it said on the side.

 His wife scooted over to the VW’s driver’s side, and Jewel scrambled to the passenger seat. They honked and waved at her.

 The looks on the officers’ faces begged an explanation.

 “I’ve always wanted to be in a high-speed chase,” she explained as she headed toward the police car.

 Then she raised her hands, lifted her face into the rain, pumped her fists and yelled. “BUCKET LIST!”

English: 1959 Cadillac hearse, Janowiak Funera...


Blessings, Voni