The whistle of the train drifted through the open windows of summer, the sound wafting up the mountainside like a lure. It was a siren’s call to his ears, whispering to him of the road, of freedom, of a different life. He shifted in bed, careful not to open the fresh welts the belt left on his back, and planned his escape.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the road” or on some topic suggested by the photo.
Turnpike
It is the road well-traveled but long ago
to country where a man
could grab land, plant corn
make a home for his family
It is the road less-traveled
now a pot-holed two-lane
winding by towns of peeling paint
houses and closed bus stations
It is the road forgotten
Sounds like Route 66 to me…
Confined to a hospital bed, your only window looking out on the busy road below, you have time to wonder where everyone is going, why they are rushing, why they don’t smile, why they honk their horns in anger at the slightest annoyance. Then the medication kicks in, and you drift again, to dream.
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“There!” Jane pointed out the right rear window. “See the road?”
Twisting in his pilot’s seat, Keith looked over his shoulder. The faint whistling of the gliding Cessna punctuated the eerie silence. It’s on a slope; too winding,” he said.
“Would you prefer to aim for the trees?” Jane asked.
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She has to head down the road again. These trips cause anxiety and hopefully they will soon end.
These trips represent another lifestyle. A lifestyle she has left behind.
The door cannot be closed until a city home sells.
She wonders why she was awake most of the night as the thoughts of this road trip was on her mind.
Maybe when all of her belongings are in the country cottage – some of the anxiety will stop.
She surely hopes the road trips will end soon!!