This story initially appeared in Fairfield Scribes Micro in May 2022.
“How much longer?” Our children’s legs drum against our seatbacks.
The trees that remain blur past. The glamour of this life races through our veins, cocaine.
We wanted to get there quickly. That’s why we’re on this highway. They’re building it night and day. Last we heard, the road, elevated miles above the chasm, stops midway, dropping you to hell.
“Soon, sweethearts.” We smile at them in the rearview.
Let’s hope that before we’ve reached midway, they’ll have built the highway’s second half, taking us safely over the chasm. See all these cars whizzing past? Everyone’s going the same way.
END
Amita Basu 