In the eerie night, the shadows of trees danced like indigo snakes, coiling around her like black dragons in a surreal forest. The thick vines resembled rose fang thorns, and she stumbled amidst the fallen trees, crowns, and flags. Tripping over the uprooted feet of toppled kings, she kneeled before the shadows, a silent participant in the nocturnal dance of the moonflowerless night.
The nightshade swirled with the wind, its writhing vines crawling on the ground. Even in the darkness, they seemed to seek life, choking their chosen victims until repentance came only in death. Prayers for rain, for the survival of winter, echoed through her mind. The cruelty and irony of fate lingered as she yearned for the rain to wash away the sins of the nightshade.
She ran through the darkness, her sweaty body clad in the shirt of rain, a fragrance of fear enveloping her. The woods echoed with silence and the rising pitch of the wind. Migraine pulses throbbed in her head, accompanied by flashes of lightning and the deafening thunder. The storm threatened to expose her, and safety lay only in the unseen darkness.
Stumbling and slipping, the muddy ground seemed to trap her like a serpent's burrow. Her shoes left behind, she felt the jagged teeth of rocks digging into her feet. It was as if the very earth sought refuge in her vulnerability, mirroring the scratching animals looking for a home.
Out of the woods, out of the car, he—a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Hey, are you alright?"
The wind and rain answered for her, leaving the question hanging in the air.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"I just want to go home."
On the interstate highway, lights flashed intermittently through the car window. The passenger side was stained with dried blood, a testament to a past encounter. Leather seats bore witness to a history marked by torn jackets and the revival of dried blood under the rain.
Turn here, turn there, and the car continued its journey. The radio played on, a twisted transistor echoing the rhythm of their lives. In three months, he would ask her out, a mere detail in the symphony of their future.
Navigating the twists and turns of the road, they forged a connection. His leather jacket, torn at the inner lining, became a symbol of their intertwined destinies. The radio's constant companion, the leather jacket bore witness to the evolution of their relationship.
A wrong turn led them to an unexpected exit. The primal panic engulfed them, but she remained oblivious to the man whose car she did not know. A chance encounter, an accident, and the beginning of a journey that would intertwine their lives.
"Sure you don't need to go to a hospital? I don't want to go. Have a boyfriend? No."
Eyes closed, head against the window, her mind oscillated between the present and the past. The road blurred, raindrops created patterns on the window, and memories unfolded like a million fish-eye lenses.
Nine months later, the car lay gnarled at the bottom of a cliff, vines growing over it. The clouds drifted over the full moon, casting darkness over the scene. All that remained was a cascade of blood, an engine hot and dry, and a life falling apart.
An accident, a sudden rain, a mudslide, and no traction. The car skidded across the road, a metal beast fighting against the forces of nature. The primal panic returned, a woman running, tripping, and leaping, leaving the man behind. Why was she always running from him? What was she running away from?
The car screeched to a stop, music playing from the speakers, engine hot, mouth dry. The car cradled memories of their time together. The twisted transistor echoed the rhythm of their lives, while rain dripped down the windshield.
"Hey, are you alright?"
He left the car, leaving the door open with the key dangling in the ignition. Gas station lights broke through the darkness, offering a momentary respite. The engine went silent, the warmth of the car replaced by the cool rain outside.
He entered the gas station, leaving her alone in the car. Rain droplets adorned the window like a million fish eyes. She watched him walk into the station mart repeatedly, the bright lights engulfing him each time. The car's creaking leather seats held her closer to the memories of their shared journey.
Walking out with supplies, he offered her comfort – peroxide, bandages, Tylenol, and more. She never gave back the shoes he bought, a small detail in the symphony of their lives. The gesture hinted at a connection that transcended time and space.
"I paid for a shower if you want one. Just walk in and go right. If you want one before I take you the rest of the way home."
The journey continued, rain pouring down on the twisted transistor. In his shoes, socks on the gas pedal, and head against the window, she surrendered to the rhythm of the windshield wipers. The road ahead was blurred, rain painting patterns on the window, and the memories unfolded like a million fish-eye lenses.
"Shower, back on the highway, in his shoes, sock on gas pedal, head against window, windshield wipers and wind-whipped rain, eyes fluttering, half-asleep."
He asked her about her accident, about falling. She never looked back, always running. A fight with her boyfriend? No.