This is a short story I have written a while ago. I travelled back home for three weeks to spend time with my family. The trip was very emotional for me in many ways. We had all gathered to give our final farewell’s to our granmother. It was somehow the end of our childhood, her passing away, for me and my brother.
Thought I’d publish it with these gorgeous images taken by Anthea Rene Photography .
The fields were yellow as the bus strolled through the wood filled forests. The road was straight, there were few stops along the way, where few strangers would jump on. Abandoned gas stations, villages sleeping, still in a quiet dream from the night before.
The sleeves in her trench coat were short, many would have thought them to be too short, not that it seemed to bother her. They gave away a little glimpse of her fine wrists. She had travelled far, numb sitting there and waiting for the destination to appear. It was as if her whole past was sitting in the bus with her. All the memories, all the past.
Those blue eyes were captivating, like they had seen much, piercing from her fair skinned face. Steadily watching you unravel in their gaze. She did not hide the fact that she knew the power they had, but camly faced anyone who came in her way.
There was some kind of emptyness in the air, like the silence after explosion leaving the air dusty and chaotic before the sound appears. The wheels were rolling steadily, eating the asphalt as they went. What was to come, would come, in any case she was ready.