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You are under arrest

Richard snaps a pair of handcuffs onto your dainty wrists and helps you into the back seat of his police cruiser. "Sorry, Steph. It's not that I don't like you, but the law's the law."

"Richard, wait," you protest. "Look, do you want to know the whole truth?"

"You have the right to remain silent," Richard interrupts, and continues reading you your rights. He takes your license and registration from you, then closes the car door behind you and reaches for his radio.

Inside the car, you tell yourself, "This has got to be some weird dream. I haven't been arrested, I'm not a woman, and my car isn't wrecked. My car isn't pink and fuchsia, either! This can't be real."

Two other police cruisers arrive at the scene about ten minutes later. The officers in the two vehicles step out and listen to Richard's account of everything that happened.

"Here's her I.D.," Richard tells the officers. "Her name is Stephanie Sunderland. I dated her for a while in high school. I can't believe she would do something this stupid."

"Well, sometimes you don't know people as well as you think," one of the other officers, a redheaded woman, says grimly as a tow truck pulls up. The driver steps out and hooks up your Mustang convertible to his tow cable.

"Hey, where are you taking my car?!" you shout. The officers and the tow truck driver ignore you. You struggle uselessly to break free of the handcuffs. After a few minutes, you give up and sit back in your seat, feeling utterly bewildered at the evening's events.

You are taken down to the police station, where you are charged with driving while under the influence of alcohol. You are escorted into a prison cell by a tall, muscular guard. You slump down on a cot and start crying, causing your mascara to run.

Written by an anonymous author

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