Day 55: The Drive
300 Days of Writing
Day 55 The Drive:
From the sky, the falcon could see them. It watched them serpentine around the bends. Wide arches of black tar that traced the mountain ridge. The falcon dipped its wings and shot down on a wave, coasting just high enough to be near, but far enough for the ignorant humans not to notice. Its third eyelid flicked across its pupil, instinctually protecting it against the rush of wind.
The top of their convertible was down. The woman’s hair swirled around her head like she was impersonating medusa. She vainly attempted to pull the strands out of her eyes, pulling her hair back into a knot that undid itself as quickly as she had tied it. A loose hair was caught on the wind and drifted up towards the falcon, who let it pass. A gift to the songbirds. A building block for their small nests.
The falcon’s yellow eyes zoomed in on the pair, clicking into sharp focus on the driver, her long painted nails gripped the steering wheel, her sunglasses hid the bruises on her face. Despite the lack of sleep and paranoia, the driver seemed content with the road. At peace behind the wheel. She effortlessly guided them around sharp mountain passes, accelerating around the turns as if the thrill of leaving wasn’t enough.
Coasting above them. The falcon banked and turned to keep up with the driver. The sea was crashing into the mountain beneath them, and its eyes glanced to the edge of the asphalt. A few metal rails were all that separated the two women from the beach.
But the falcon knew, that’s not where they were driving, and kept flying behind them.