The first time we crashed,
that red Grand Cherokee
whistled through frosted air.
The silver flakes tinting the glass,
the radio and engine harmonized their hum.
We’re not well dressed for winter:
sequins, sparkles and magnificent blades.
The jeep sang for the iced concrete,
—growing quicker in tempo—
until the world turned upside down.
Shards from the mosaic window freckled our cheeks.
Outside, we held onto each other's breath,
grateful for our drumming hearts.
About the Creator
Mya Doerksen
Hi there, I'm a student, a writer and an aspring author. At the moment I'll mostly be posting shorts, school assignments or challenge submissions.
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Silence
I don’t remember the day the world ended. But I do remember the day I noticed. That photo was it, but I did not know what it meant until I sat in my darkened bathroom, staring at the newly developed film. The street was neither empty, nor abandoned. It was dead. The colours of the flowers wrapped in that red ribbon caught my eye, and as I crouched to take that photo, I could hear only the lonely silence of a graveyard after dark.
By Alexander McEvoy6 days ago in Fiction
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