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This diary entry is written by burberry_girlie. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: Can I ever be forgiven? in category Possibility

Story (short)Category: story
Saturday, 9 August 2008
10:15:13 AM (GMT)
I happen to be on my friends laptop, and amid her many mixed media files and piles
of software, she doesn't seem to have the one, very simplistic program I need:
Microsoft Word. Oh well, no hard feelings, of course, seeing as she hasn't much use
for it, anyway. So, seeing as it IS 5:45 am where I am now, and I feel the urge to
write a story, I'll just post it here and transfer it to word later. 

There's that damn car again. The red one, with the little rust spot on the bottom of
the passenger door, and the ugly, yellow upholstery that always gave me a headache
when I sat inside. The dashboard was ashen gray and textured, so it seemed, to trap
and hold dust, making it just seem dirtier still. The hubcaps on the tires didn't
even have a cool design on them; other car's hubcaps looked spikey, or chromed, like
medival weaponry, but the car only had plain hubcaps, like dull disks of metal. Of
course, thats all they were anyway, interesting or not, but it's always more fun to
imagine. I asked him once, while driving home, why we didn't have better hubcaps,
more exciting, more fun to imagine with. Turning his head slightly in my direction,
he replied that the notion of eye-pleasing hubcaps was ludicrous. I was only 5 then,
and I didnt understand what he meant, but children have a way of picking this stuff
up, and I could tell t=from the tone of his voice that I had asked a stupid question,
so I tried to keep my "hubcap" notions to myself.

Nonetheless, however ugly and unpleasingly smelly, that car was like a home. Though
we never did get so poverty stricken that we ever had to live in it. A home is where
the heart is , and part of my heart is in that car. To a little girl, growing up
living between two houses, the road in between is what you call home. That car
represented the road in between. It was a machine, a working mechanical masterpiece
of metal, glass, and oil, and it got us where we needed to go, be that the grocery
store, the movie theature or the home of whatever parent of whose care we were not
currently in. It was the finish line, for every parking garage race from the basement
door to the car itself. Almost every time, sometimes even the minute we stepped out
the door, my brother and I bolted with all our might with no real goal towards it,
hoping to be the first to lay a hand say "I won I won!". That car was also a savior,
from a foul, parental mood and the only escape, the only way out. It held silence
well, using it as a sturty wall between every passenger saving them from their own
rage, or guilt, or frustration. 

You're supposed to live your life in your home. Create memories, experience emotions,
mark epochs in your life. Well, thats what happend in that damn car. Inside we felt
mad, sad, glad, frustrated, lonely and sick and none of that ever left the car
itself. It hovered in the air around us. Through every song that played on the radio,
or every lecture said in maybe too loud or harsh a voice, through every trivial bit
of natural science information that your brother tried to test you with. Even every
single thought of ill-will or every horrible fanatsy that usually ended up tragically
and every thought of how emotionally screwed up you are and how you wih that you
could just once think like a normal person. That car held ever piece and worst yet;
it never let you forget.

Now, this car, this ugly, damn car, was sitting in your driveway for the last time
and you just can't help thinking that you sent it away. That this is your fault. Soon
your eyes will play tricks on you, and this poor, ugly, damn car will seem to be
pouting at you. Saying that it wants you back. Thats it's sorry. That it promises it
will change. The car, of course, doesn't need to change. Nor does the driver. Only
you can change. 

I guess I'll have to way a while till my next oil change, and it wouldn't be safe to
drive before-hand

(p.s. If you don't get my car analogies, you shouldn't have read it in the first
place XD)

burberry_girlie says :   18 August 2009   739151  
ugg i look back on this an realize how shitty a writer i was...and
probably still am -____-'


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