Part 12

There was a day.  It was warm.  Late spring.   Halcyon days.  First days of a house by the sea.  You and me.  By the sea.   We read serious newspapers seriously. Each Sunday.  Spread on a bed by the sea.   From that small island we had created.  Each new tide bought us closer to the change.  Informed by newsprint.  A change.  In the days before social media.  A Sunday drive. Small sports car.  Japanese.  Second owners.  Hardly used.  On the way back from The Moors.  A juggernaut.  White. Plain.  No writing.  The late Spring Sun.  An open Japanese electric sunroof.  So novel.  You stood.  I drove.  You singing.  As loud as you could. Open sunroof.  Passing a juggernaut.  Blood oozed from its metal creases.  These were the early days of the change.  Blood on a B-Road.  You singing.  You screaming.  Passing Wrench Green.  The wrench of death.  Passing a juggernaut.  The driver faceless.

© swissterrace 2023
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This is a juggernaut piece of writing. Change comes unexpected. We need to breathe.

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