I was driving home one rainy night and noticed a man having some car trouble. He looked so confused and lost that I couldn’t drive away and let him soak. With my knowledge, from seeing my father work in his shop for so many years, I thought I could be of assistance.
I pulled over and approached him. After talking with the man, and seeing how clueless he was about his rental car, I took a look under the hood. It was a simple. No coolant. I explained this to him and luckily I had some in my truck. I walked around to go and grab it and the man slipped and stumbled into the busy street. He was killed on impact they said.
Witnesses say I pushed him, and as time went on the stories got more detailed. We were in a “heated argument”. He had cut me off, and I followed him to pick a fight.
The more people talked, the worse my reputation got. I was a kind, and caring husband who worked at the grocery store. Now I am a road raged, maniac, struggling to keep my house. All because I wanted to help a man fix his car. My story never changed, but I am only one man. The truth was in the numbers, no matter how unbelievable they were.
In response to: Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door.