Fast Car

Fast Car

She stood on the edge of the road, skirt blowing in the dusty wind. Her hair flew out around her face in dirty clumps, hiding the purple splotches on her face, if only momentarily. The desert's sun was unrelentless on her fair skin, and dried out even her eyes until she appeared to be nothing more than a dying sea sprite.

Raising a hand, she covered her eyes and looked for anyone, anything. A car. A truck. A human.

There was nothing. The world arched out for miles, showing nothing and no one. She continued to walk.

*

He flew down the highway, like no creature that had existed before or would exist after. In his air conditioned wonderland, he wasn't human. He was the wind, the glorious scirocco that he yearned to chase.

The silence around him wailed as he left it in the rusty dirt on the side of the road. There was no force on Earth that could stop him from leaving, from the freedom he craved.

And then everything he thought was right was turned upside down. He stopped.

*

It was silver, and moved like a mechanical dragon, racing the wind and winning. She couldn't help but stop when she heard it behind her, and she turned to face the creature. It shot through the air and she thought that it would continue by, leaving a wind that could blow her thin body over where it stood.

It slowed, though. At five miles, at three, it zoomed, but at one, it slowed and stopped.

She stopped, too. All of her thoughts froze, her breath caught. Everything ended for her except for the car in front of her.

*

Why was he bothering? He shouldn't be slowing down for someone on the side of the road. It wasn't safe, but she didn't look like she could kill a cat, let alone him. Her body was so fragile looking, like spun glass, and her skin was the yellowed sunburn of malnutrition.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had no choice. He opened the door and called out to her.

"Hey! Get in."

*

She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't get in. But what choice did she have? 'I'd rather die in a car than under the sun,' she thought.

So she got in the car. Really, what choice could she have?

*

He looked at her, shutting the door and putting on her seatbelt. The bones were almost poking through her skin. Her eyes were cast down toward her spidery hands.

He probably shouldn't have, but he picked one of her hands up. It felt thin as a bird's wing, and twice as delicate. She jumped at his touch and shrank away, finally looking up at him. The bruises on her cheeks shone a mottled purple against her skin.

"Hey, it's all right," he assured her. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

*

She had no reason to believe him, but it calmed her somewhat. She relaxed and let him hold her hand. His touch was gentle, unfamilliar but kind.

"Thank you." She couldn't muster any other words to describe her euphoria at being alive, but somehow, that seemed enough. His eyes softened a bit, and he grinned.

*

"Anytime," he replied. "Let's go get something to eat, and we'll figure out what to do."

He let go of her hand and grabbed his brush. It was rather calming to pull it through his hair, as he had done so many times before. "Anyway, my name's Draco. What's yours?"

*

"Ginny."