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Washing Away
The rain pounds against my car like bullets from the internal war brewing within me. My knuckles turn white as I clutch the steering wheel tighter, as the memories of the last couple of days flood through my mind. I look outside the window, the rush hour highway dances with reflections from headlights, glistening with secrets, daring me to come dance with them. On a whim, I open the door. My bare feet touch the cold ground, I feel a thousand icicles crawl up my spine. The rain engulfs me, wiping away my past and making room for the future. A man in the car across from me shouts “Lady… you crazy?” Maybe I am I think, and a smile crawls up from my soaking lips.
My perfect curls I left work with, are now a mass of straight twigs, covering my face and with it, my past. I sit down and lean my back against the car, more blaring horns fill my ears. I look at the crowded highway; each car seems to hold a frustrated prisoner, usually gaping at me. My gaze drifts down to those lovely headlight reflections, they frolic around me laughing and begging me to run with them.
“Ma’m?” I look up and I see a police officer in a tight, sopping uniform, defeat and anger are plastered over his face. I smile, a real smile.
“Ma’m are you all right?” he says crouching down to my level. I meet his hate baring eyes.
“Never better,” the words crumble out of my mouth, effortlessly and for the first time in a long time, honestly. He shrugs his shoulders and trudges to his cop car, not caring enough to learn more.
“Sir!” I yell after him. He stops and turns around obviously annoyed, and eager to get out of the rain.
“Sit with me,” I gesture to the spot next to me. A thousand emotions run over his face, after about a minute, he lifts his face up to the leaking sky and smiles. He hesitantly makes his way over to me; he sits next me without a sound. A sigh escapes his grimacing lips.
“Look,” I point to the reflections. His eyes dance with them over the road, I watch him evaluate the world. A warm silence caress us, in no hurry to be broken. We sit for a while, just sitting, watching, waiting. After a while he slowly stands up.
“Thank-you,” he says quietly. He humbly walks off, taking a moment to nod at the cars still stuck in 5:00 traffic.
“No!” I say once he’s a way, I look up at the sky and find my lips moving in a silent prayer, “Thank-you”.
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This article has 6 comments.
it was awesome how you portrayed your image and feelings perfectly without giving a history about ethier people in your story. and you only had to use two people.
it'd be cool if you(open invitation to all whos reading) checked out some of my newest stuff and told me what you think. rate.