tales from the road

Another possibility that could be developed into something. Must keep writing and editing and editing and editing.

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The van eased its way down highway 80 heading toward Ohio. Although not its final destination, it still clunked along, cutting through the wind at what felt like 70mph, but was really 90.
        The naked trees flew by on the left and right, while flashes of snow caught the eye of the driver. His steady hands held the steering wheel tightly. He grabbed a bag of cookies to the right of him, by easing the grip he had on the steering wheel.
        The bag was from Subway, a place he never ate. There was a first time for everything. Written below the logo were the words, Eat fresh. He wondered how fresh the cookies really were. He’d never trusted Subway, but his sweet tooth needed to be satisfied. It was his weakness. He pulled out one of the two cookies and bit it. It was the peanut baked variety. His distrust faded as the sugar rush gave way to euphoria. He almost closed his eyes—were it not for the road—as he chewed, biting each corner of the cookie until it was done.
        He thought about the eternal road ahead. The drive was unforgivingly long. Seven more hours to go.
        “Aman?”
        “Yes?”
        “Are you ok?”
        “Yes. I’m fine.”
        “How’s the cookie?”
        “Delicious.”
        Ziza was always alert as to Aman’s needs. She loved him with a calm that could still the vast oceans of the world. Well, maybe it could only still a large lake. Or a small pond. He looked ahead, down the road, and wondered about the time worn asphalt. It was once black, a beautiful black that reminded him of the advancement of mankind. He chuckled at the thought. Advancement. What did that mean? Did anything manmade really advance, or evolve? Or were the time killing creations merely a cover for the fact that there was nothing particularly great about the culture. Maybe everything was merely to fill a void in those who had no real abilities and were bored, or felt useless, or wondered incessantly about their purpose so had to create purpose.
        Aman dipped his hand back into the cookie bag and retrieved the final cookie. Macadamia. He took a bite then glanced to his left. Across the seemingly limitless expanse was land for as far as the eyes could see. It couldn’t have been less than a thousand acres. Possibly much more. Speckled across the open fields were four houses, all spread a great distance apart. A few horses and cows grazed as the sun warmed their strong bodies. Aman let the taste of the cookie work its way around his mouth. He could almost taste the land.
        The land was not gray, like the aged asphalt. Even on that cold January day, it still shone lush, green and alive in his mind. It was quiet, gathering energy, preparing for the Earth’s turn, a turn that would transform everything on what was once considered Turtle Island. Newcomers now call it America.

© zaji

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