Here's a story for Three Word Wednesday. The words are effect, immense and shimmer. These are actually last week's words... running late.
Taillights shimmer in the black wet road like Christmas and then I am alone on the highway, me and my rain-spotted windshield, my rain-spotted life. The road looks like Christmas and the stores too but it’s not even Halloween, but you wouldn’t know it because everyone acts like someone else, they wear their costumes year-round. I see no real people. Nobody sees me. Efforts produce only sameness, a cause produces the same effect. The road goes everywhere at once but people wear holes in small sections of it, confined by some invisible lines drawn by a notion of what they should. What I should, what you should. Complacency is the drug of choice; it kills the pain of desire. Seeing through the masks is another kind of death.
Windshield wipers. A miniscule twist of steering wheel. A low voice on the radio talking about health care. In the distance, headlights. Large globes aiming beams into the immense night, yellow running lights surrounding the tractor, a deluxe version, a rolling house. The road changes, illuminates, and I see how it could lead to a destination on no one’s map.