Drabble Triptych — Raindrops, Roadtrips, and Endless Things

Here are three more drabbles for your reading pleasure!

The drive was boring, especially from the passenger seat. Nothing but road and rain. I turned to the window, letting the view fall out of focus so I could see the upside-down landscape in the quivering raindrops on the glass.

Within one, something stirred. My breath caught as I leaned in closer. A face. Hands pressing against the surface between us. A silent scream from an open mouth.

I pressed my finger against the glass so I wouldn’t have to see.

“You’ll leave fingerprints,” the driver admonished.

“I still say buying a second-hand hearse was a terrible idea,” I grumbled.

I hang my arm out the car window, letting my hand surf on waves of air.

“Don’t do that,” Mom says. “A passing car could rip your arm off.”

“Yeah, right,” I say. But I pull my hand inside anyway.

“I have to pee!” Billy says.

“Too bad,” Mom says. “Hold it.”

“But I can’t!”

“If he pees in here,” I say, “I’m jumping out the window.”

“Nobody’s jumping out the window,” Mom says.

“Fine. Then I’ll throw him out the window.”

From the driver’s seat, Dad sighs. I don’t know why he’s surprised. Every road trip is like this.

The road stretches into forever. Most of the people driving its asphalt curves don’t know that.

But I do.

I never reached my now-forgotten destination. I don’t know why.

Maybe I crashed.

All I know is that I’m always on this never-ending road. Always driving. Always wondering.

The vehicles I pass are the same, trapped in the same one-minute loop. The black SUV. The white van. The red convertible. A highway of clichés, whizzing past at a hundred kilometres per hour.

I stop the car, not bothering with the hazard lights.

The highway resets, stretching into forever.

And I drive.