Wednesday, April 16, 2025
Time: 6:05 AM
Song: Wild World
Artist: Cat Stevens
Mode of Consumption: Listening to MP3s while working out.
Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/7mjSHL2Eb0kAwiKbvNNyD9?si=4254f0ab21ca47fa
Last night at Write On, we had a writing workout. Each of us
had to include three poetic devices from an article we studied into whatever we
decided to write. The three that I used were personification, onomatopoeia and
allusion.
Here is what I came up with:
Aaron twisted the key in the ignition, stunted swears dying
under his breath. The Oldsmobile hiccupped, and coughed, and at last, moaned in
final defeat before falling silent. It’s maroon paint job almost paled as if
blood were draining from its engine rather than oil. On the rural highway’s
shoulder, Aaron placed his forehead to the steering wheel, hoping the proximity
of his brain to the flesh of the car would somehow send signals of
encouragement from him to it.
Inhaling one last time to calm his nerves, he turned the
key.
Click.
He turned it back and tried once more.
Click.
Nothing more. Just click and silence.
Aaron placed his palms onto the steering wheel, if only he
were Jesus and the ’89 Oldsmobile was Lazarus. In a jiffy, he’d be cruising down the road,
windows down with the life he was escaping disappearing a mile at a time in the
rearview mirror.
Only one car had passed since he was forced to pull over an
hour earlier with smoke billowing from under the hood. The steamy afternoon had
yielded to a balmy, still evening. To each side of the road, green cornstalks
clawed upward from the dusty earth, reaching toward the sky in hopes of pulling
any drips of moisture back down to its roots.
He estimated it was at least 30 miles to the next town on
this road, unless he retraced his route. Jordan was only ten miles the
direction he had come, but it would feel like ten miles at seventy percent
incline. The only rescue there was Jesse or Ingrid or Pa. The three people he
had intended on never seeing again.
Of course, 30 miles ahead was a greater distance than
Phillippides covered from Marathon to Athens. If Aaron made it, he doubted it
would inspire a couple thousand years of runners. And, what if he did make it,
who would help him there? He knew no one, had little prospects, and next to no
money.
His only hope was Melody and she was still hundreds of miles
away. Why couldn’t the Oldsmobile survive one more drive.
He closed his eyes, turned the key.
Click.
Throwing open the door, he stepped from the car. He peered
backward. He gazed forward. Neither headlights or taillights in either
direction. He stepped to the roadway, the heat of the concrete penetrating the
rubber soles of his tennis shoes.
The sun was going down.
Which way should he go?
No comments:
Post a Comment