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Just Read It, Won’t Ya?

…she drives along the convoluted winding road, her ashen right elbow poking out of the driver’s window, nippy breeze ruffling the skin underneath her undone shirt. A cap sits over her head, dark furtive spectacles before her eyes. A black knapsack is plonked shotgun, stuffed with crunchs of apparel she could briskly gather.

Intermittently, she takes a drag and taps off the ash from the nether of her burning skiff. Poignant country music plays from the car’s stereo akin to the tapering scene of an action laden film. It is a film, the mishap trajectory her life now outsets. Beneath the blue skies with white cloud interludes and the distant but unmistakable pacifying roar of the ocean, she drives on with in an eerie coalesce of nonchalance and pensiveness.

In a hunch, she takes a detour, promptly veering to the left and into a desolate dirt road that sprawls into an expansive precipice. The car halts a few feet from the road.

She steps out – jaded – her gait impeded by a slight limp on her left leg. She shuffles to the fringe of the cliff, overlooking the behemoth blue sea, waves sporadically crashing against the rocks a daunting 500 meters down give or take. Each time they grow more voracious.

How she got here wasn’t premeditated. He wasn’t supposed to be back before 8 pm. It was supposed to be a quick job. Incisive even. An elaborate prompt nip in and out, almost surgical. For now, his foot peeks from the car’s boot…

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