Sometimes, what you perceive is not necessarily the truth. Everyone, even arseholes, have their truth. And while you may not agree, there’s no changing their truth to match yours. Sorry.
So your truth may be that that dickhead almost ran you over because he was definitely not paying attention when he turned the corner while you were crossing. And that’s the truth to you. To him, though, the truth is that he always turns that corner at roughly the same time every day and 99.99999% of the time no one is crossing the road. It’s a quiet road, the road his house is on and he’s so used to turning that corner and carrying on down the road to his home that his brain doesn’t even have time to register the change of circumstance before he’s baring down on a person in the middle of the road. His truth is that you walked out into the road without looking.
No one will win this argument.
No one was hurt, so maybe it’s an argument not worth having.
After some shouting and gesturing at each other through his windshield, you both go on with your lives, a little shaken but mostly the same. Except you now are both at least 1 and a half minutes later than you should have been to your respective destinations.
The truth is that both your routines have been disrupted enough to cause tiny shockwaves of difference to what should have happened.
He should have arrived home, kissed his husband on the cheek and gone to change out of his suit into pyjama bottoms and a comfy t-shirt. Instead he entered the house in a sour mood, ranting about the crazy woman who just leaped in front of his car and that was all he needed this week, hadn’t it been shitty enough?
You should have been over the road and meandering down the next street looking for the correct address but in your haste and hustle, shaking from the adrenaline leaving your system that you march down the street, right past the address you are looking for and end up several meters from where you should be. This wouldn’t normally matter except for this one day, where you run into a person you don’t recognise at the end of the street but who is smiling at you as if he knows exactly who you are.
He says your name and you stop in your tracks.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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