Nothing she’d ever done had been a test.  “Trial by fire,” her father had always said.  She had the scars to prove it.

Her father, then had been the primary motive for a life as a stunt woman.  Now, a few cracked vertebrae and a plate or two in her ankles…now it didn’t really matter.  This was life.  As good as it was going to get.  No time for tests or testing things out.  No money, either.  B-Movies never had money for that.  So the car scene?  She had it in her head, sketched it out, and ran a few matchbox simulations, but other than that, no tests.  Just “Damn the torpedoes.  Full speed ahead.”

“F-you, dad!”  she screamed as she floored the pedal and kept her eye on the tach.

If she had any second thoughts before the impact, they may have been about the fact that all of this, all of life, maybe that was the test, and she was about to fail.



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