For this week’s Red Writing Hood prompt, we were asked to create a piece detailing a road trip:
In 300 words or less, create a fiction or creative non-fiction piece that lets us feel the wind from an open window or the dry heat of a car vent.
“This was such a good idea! Why didn’t we do this last year?” Carol-Ann asked, smiling.
“’Cause last year I did Thanksgiving with Lisa’s family.”
“Oh, right.” Carol-Ann chuckled. “You know mom hated her, right?”
“Mom hates all my girlfriends.”
“True,” she agreed, “but she hated Lisa especially; I think it was the fluorescent fingernails.”
“Whatever. I need to sleep.” Jake pulled his fraying hat down over his eyes.
“We’ll be there in 20 minutes,” Carol-Ann protested. She took her eyes off the road for the few seconds needed to check her brother over. “Why would you get drunk the night before Thanksgiving anyway? Mom and Dad are gonna know you’re hungover.”
“Thanksgiving eve is the biggest party night of the year.” He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Not that I expect you to know that,” he added in that same obnoxious tone he’d been using since he learned to talk.
Carol-Ann sighed and flipped on the radio for company.
Five minutes hadn’t passed before a gasp jolted Jake awake.
“Oh, I love this song,” Carol-Ann exclaimed, reaching for the volume knob. Bing Crosby’s version of ‘Silver Bells’ filled the car, and Jake groaned.
“Oh, come on, Scrooge. Remember how Mom and Dad used to play this on Christmas Eve? How can you not like it? It reminds me of home.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Jake muttered, slumping down in his seat.
“Don’t bother going back to sleep. The bridge is coming up.”
A nervous sense of excitement had come over her the minute it was in sight, and she rolled down all four windows of the car; bitter cold wind and the smell of salt air and seaweed smacked them both in the face.
“Smells awful,” Jake grumbled, pulling his sweatshirt up over his nose.
“Yeah, but in a good way.”