The sky touches stars in deep silence. Eyes bright, she launches into a swirl of breath and words and… shit. Gravity. All flights have been cancelled. She’ll use the car instead. It’s all right, she thinks, hands tight around the rubber-band steering wheel. Writing starts in mud, an urgent, earthly love. The road, inky-wet with rain, curves into night. She can hardly see. Curtains of fog harness the light, a mask in this plight of the writer’s life. The sky touches the stars in deep silence. She knows this to be true. Tonight, she will not sleep, but sequester herself into the dark journey, a fish swimming through a tar-black river.
I completed this piece for Visual Storytelling class online