Five-Hundred Word Challenge 291: Four Wheels Spun Fast

The sound of a motor roaring along gradually approached along the great stretch of road that sat in the flat plains, stretching beyond the horizon in a land with no edges.

Four wheels spun fast along the road, carrying its chassis and occupants along with a speed that would not ever dare be seen in the city.

In the eyes of the driver was a stare a thousand yards long, great focus but not looking at anything.

They had been driving for days with no direction in particular, not really looking for anything other than to get away from what they had been surrounded by.

Their face was stone, co-d and still. They were bitter and dejected, not thinking about anything, or at the least trying not to think about anything.

They knew that running away would not solve anything, but they also knew that they needed to get away from all the shallow bullshit of the city, at least for a little while.

It had become too much. There had been no release, no escape for so long and all that they were left with was rage eating at them.

Rage, stress and pressure. Little more than those.

It lead to a sense of dejection that they had so desperately tried to avoid.

There wasn’t much packed. Just enough.

There was no announcement. They just needed to go and did not faff about, for that may have lead to them staying longer and putting up with a bad situation growing far worse.

All that was built around them was beginning to look like more things pressing down upon their back, pushing harder and harder, trying to snap their spine with a dissatisfying cracking sound.

Through the window of their car rocketing along the highway they could see stretches of emptiness that was almost inviting and comforting. Yet it could not reach them for all they could see was something that may have lied ahead of them.

There were no other vehicles, a scant amount of animals and low shrubs that marked the earth.

There was still green, but it seemed old in a way that complimented the bare soil that could easily be made out, for it was more on show than anything else.

It was an endless space that no one would touch for it would require too much effort for such a little payoff.

To them, it seemed almost as tho-ugh the land was as bitter as they were, though they did not care for they were not the land and the land was not what they were trying to find.

All they did whilst shooting down the highway was continue to stare forward, stone look on their face, still features beyond what was required.

Their mind was awash with thoughts, yet they were not thinking.

They needed to move and keep on going for the time being.

They could rest later.

For now their car would carry them, cutting through the vast silence of the landscape.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 09:51:33

I think I was trying to make this more about the land than I was about anything else, but that’s not quite how it turned out.

I think that whilst there is a display of some decent writing, this could have been significantly better than it turned out to be.

Written at work.


About stupidityhole

I'm some guy that does stuff. The standards. Creating amazing effigies, scaling mountains using my feet only and replacing the very fabric of reality. Serious time! I enjoy writing. I make music in some of my spare time. Currently working somewhat full time and studying as well. Also working on self-improvement. Hoping to one day fill the internet with enough insane ramblings to impress a cannibal rat ship. I have a page called MS Paint Masterpieces that you may be interested in checking out.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.