a short story

pinklolly1

,United Kingdom

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The Journey It was just the Road, the Car, the Sun, him and her. That day they were one person a singular soul moulded in to the same being, back to basics, no boundaries. The crimson sun painted the sky pink with its syrupy light rays spilling over the clouds and mountains. Originally the journey had begun in the city but some how the road had veered in to the dusky countryside and now they went wherever the sweet smelling breeze took them. Headed no where they continued. She and him, that was all that mattered that day. The air rippled and tingled with silent laughter. They never needed words, one glance could say more than a million love songs or poems. Endless fields of golden corn swaying like young girl’s hair seemed to be in time with the beat of the earth. The old convertible had been filled with gas earlier and for now it chugged along sufficiently. A single moth-eaten case sat secretly in the trunk longing to be unpacked. Songs blazed from the radio corrupting the peace but to him and her it was worth it. She sat wide-eyed, those eyes, the black pools with no end now seemed to blend in with the scenery. Her ribbon like hair swept, twirled, coiled and ran like dancing horses behind her. He wanted to look at her but he felt he had an obligation to the tarmac that lay ahead. The odyssey gained speed, as did the fall of a fine day. Soon a cool lullaby of black that turned out to be night fell. As if taken by surprise the couple stopped. It wasn’t any place special, the land was still crops and hills but now the jewel studded sky called to them. They obeyed to the gods of the dark hour and stared up at the fine artwork of twilight. They watched Luna as she ruled supreme. Luna’s sad light weaved a sea of silk like effulgence. They returned to the car and sped onwards to the next town. The town was small, quaint and perfectly perfect for the occasion. So in a small hotel they reached the journey’s furthest point. They awoke the next morning ready to travel home to those who would be worrying chronically about the where abouts of the romantic runaways. So whilst the dewdrops were still fresh and condensation remained, clung to the still morning streets. They left. The sky was almost a water colour wash blue. The new yellow beach ball that stuck to the sky warmed the dawn. That fine aurora was there just for him and her. So it was over. The night time adventure. The long drive. The evolution of new feelings and experiences. It was the final leg of a race the lovers had just won. That was the journey.