The sky shone fluorescent blue like the the gleaming of the sun off the boy’s eyes. His mind paced over the patterns of life that led him to this point; Pitter pattering over the most inconsequential moments in his past. The placid sea of green ran off before him pausing only to shoot the occasional tree up towards the sun. Into the future a little road -barely a path-forced its way into the motionless world of green. The boy, named Elijah, after that pillar of Christian faith- a stranger who stood in the face of society to proclaim the need for revolution, drove with his face towards the sun and his back towards his home. West. Always west into the sunset; falling farther from home every time the sun wearied of its work. His soul seemed to weary as often as the sun, and often set into the depths of the past to reiterate every thought once or a thousand times in a vain attempt to return.
Today the road and the silence stole his soul and Elijah found himself soaring over the earth chasing the white trails of clouds that swept with the wind over the prairies. Like all strangers and wanderers he felt the road and the freedom of the wind tied him inexplicably to the world around him and the human race.
Elijah rushed down a black, frost stricken road towards a little town that sat with its back to the road and its face towards the railroad track. It sat contentedly with nothing but a general store of white tin and a little “Best beer in town” sign hanging from the door and a feed mill that sat square against the railroad tracks.
Elijah slowed ever so slightly as he came beside the general store. For a moment all time stopped while Elijah made eye contact with the little gray window that stared out from dirty white tin wall. Then the moment died as quickly as it had come. Elijah found himself lost among the green tangle of the wild grasses that danced every hour of summer.
That night the sun set over the road sending the clouds into a frenzy over Elijah. He opened the window and felt his arm fill with goosebumps as the cool air rushed through the car. It smelled of grass and swamp stank. The farther Elijah drove the closer he felt to the sky. Over the the prairies and into the hills Elijah sped, his foot on the gas and his hand out the window. The atmosphere flooded the car and fed the flood of memories and thoughts that seeped into Elijah’s mind. He took deep breaths letting the world feed his own sentiment.
Driving is like like flying, and flying is like living. Everything happens in spectacular detail, but every human is stuck in a bubble of their own thoughts, living a mile high, a mere passer-byer in a world that is spinning by.