Cinquanta Cincuenta


Highway

It was their first date. Three a.m. and nothing but the two of them, the speed, the freedom and the open highway. It was simple and perfect and it was them. It was all that they were all that they'd ever be and all that they needed to be. The speed and the freedom.

It didn't matter that the car, an old beat up pick-up that had been taken apart and put back together so many times that it was impossible to tell what make it was, over heated if pushed past fifty miles an hour. Or that the radio was broken yet somehow managed to pick up Russian radio station and only a Russian radio station. And also ate any caste that came anywhere near it.

The suspension was shot, the brakes squeaked and the imitation leather on the seats stuck to any bare skin that came into contact with it. The whole thing looked like it would fall apart at any moment and was only being held together by luck and, possibly, sticky-tape. And it was the most perfect place in the whole world.

The wind streaming through the open windows, pulling and tugging at the ebony coils of her hair as she sat with her feet resting in his lap. It was beautiful and she was beautiful and he thought he'd like nothing better than to keep driving forever.

Just the two of them, the speed, the freedom and the open highway stretching on forever.


And that my friends is all she wrote. I set out to write fifty drabbles for fifty prompts and post them in, yeah you guessed it, fifty days. And by and large that is what I have done. I had a great time doing it and I want to say thank you to all of you for coming on this ride with me.

Lamanth

(bows and exits stage right)