Liberated

I’d get where I needed to go. I had no choice. Public transport had failed me, and I refused to carry on at the mercy of others whilst hitchhiking. I sat curbside, disheartened. I needed a plan. A sign from above. Someone or something to point me in the right direction…any direction.

I squinted into the heat waves, shielding my eyes against the sun seemingly set ablaze. I surveyed my surroundings and noticed a gas station to my left. I watched as a weathered silver Volkswagen pulled up. The engine remained running as the driver popped inside the mart.

Three, two, one…I sped down Interstate 83. With hands gripped tightly to the wheel and stare affixed to the road ahead, I pressed onwards without remorse.

In short, I had stolen a car. One might ask, did I found myself suddenly overcome by a deluge of guilt or shame for my misdeed? I did not. Instead, I let out a primal scream, raising my arms to the interminable sky. I felt liberated from the misfortune that had led me to this very moment. I was San Francisco bound, finally.