Not far down the dirt trail, nearby a fence crippled with age, rested an old vehicle put out of commission years ago. It was an old Dotson something or another. All four tires were flat from being baked by the sun for 20 years. It lay flat on the ground with all sort of brush grown up around it. If the sun was bright enough you could still catch a glimpse of her silvery blue color. I first approached the car at the end of a trying day and was just looking for a place to hide. After clearing away some of the weeds and stickers, I tried opening the door. It took a bit of encouragement but after a while I was able to climb in. It was beautiful inside. The black leather seats were still soft. Although there were weeds growing around my feet and a snake skin next to me I could still smell the aroma of a real car. I put my hand to the wheel and reached for the gear shift; it was like waking up from a dream. I was staring out into an empty field, yet I could see a long road stretching out before me. She wanted to take me somewhere. She wanted to show the things she had seen. I took a deep breath, then slowly I stepped on the gas. As the miles past behind me and the cool breeze tickled my face, I could feel her warm smile reassuring me that it would all work out and everything was going to be OK.
The years past and we traveled the world together. Every time anger and hatred started to take over I found comfort in her always open ears, and when I got to a point in my life when I thought there was nothing to look forward to, she would take me down the ever changing road and tell me it was all going to be different one day.
That day did come just a few years later, but everything was just the same as it had always been. Nothing had changed, it had only gotten worse and worse. Everything she had told me was a lie. Every time I stepped on that gas peddle I was driving myself farther down into my own ruts. That day I came, but I came with ten pounds of steel. I dragged the hammer to the spot where she lay. I lifted the hammer and swung with a force driven by hatred. Then I swung again and again and again. I heard a piercing sound as the windshield shattered. I stopped and looked down at the scattered pieces of glass trickling down the hood. Quickly I dropped the hammer, thrust out my arms, and caught her tears in my hands. I sat on my knees and clenched the sharp prisms till her tears became mine.
My hands now covered in her blood, my blood.
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4 comments:
your story made me cry. poor poor car.
Wow. That's pretty good. But geeze, not happy... you could've fixed it up and driven it around with a latté and a pretty girl. I guess that's a little trite.
are you interested in writing for writings sake or is this just an outlet?
because if youre interested in writing you might want to expand this story, it could be very interesting.
and disturbing. but hey, some people have hade a lot of success being very disturbing, and i cant exactly say that im anything less than that in my stories either.
Mabey it was a little bit for the sake of writing, but mostly it was just an outlet. Cus I don't think it very good writing. I just wrote it one night and wanted to get the story out. I have started to get into writing a little more though.
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