Prompt Week #2
Self Description - Third Person
She’s on the highway. Another state falls away in the rearview. The same song plays over and over filling the car and spilling out into the quiet of the summer twilight. It’s a song about trains and waiting and glass clocks that mark the passing of both. Every beat is matched by the gentle sway of her head and her fingers' tap on the wheel. She’s singing loudly. Her eyes close against the words occasionally holding them there for the reinforcement of her own feelings. She believes still in soul mates and love and in the concoction of these ideas in her reality. It is a time of hope and possibility not yet surrendered. It’s another time – a time once, but no longer. The possibilities faded like the states in her rearview. Somewhere out on that highway the song still plays but she’s stopped swaying to its beat.
She’s on the highway. Another state falls away in the rearview. The same song plays over and over filling the car and spilling out into the quiet of the summer twilight. It’s a song about trains and waiting and glass clocks that mark the passing of both. Every beat is matched by the gentle sway of her head and her fingers' tap on the wheel. She’s singing loudly. Her eyes close against the words occasionally holding them there for the reinforcement of her own feelings. She believes still in soul mates and love and in the concoction of these ideas in her reality. It is a time of hope and possibility not yet surrendered. It’s another time – a time once, but no longer. The possibilities faded like the states in her rearview. Somewhere out on that highway the song still plays but she’s stopped swaying to its beat.
posted by millay at 11:47 PM
1 Comments:
Jeez, pretty glum....
I'm always a fan of writing that instead of trying to cover everything has enough confidence in its own power to say, 'If you look at this single small thing closely enough, all will be revealed.' It's a matter of writerly economy-and this snapshot of a woman singing down the highway is a nice example of it.
I was teasing about 'glum,' but the piece really does muster and insist on a lot of melancholy.
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