Writing Prompt: Max drove on, through rows of well-kept vines.

Pens at the ready? Or keyboard. Or crayon if you prefer. Timer set for fifteen minutes? Excellent. Now go and don’t stop writing until the time is up. Remember it doesn’t have to be perfect. The point isn’t to create a masterpiece but to get your brain moving. Posted below is what I came up with today.

Friday, October 2nd: Max drove on, through rows of well-kept vines.

Max drove on, through rows of well-kept vines.  He felt surrounded by them.  ‘It’s just because it’s a flat drive,’ he told himself, turning up the radio. It only seems like I am surrounded because it’s all I can see.’ As the land rose and the incline steepened, his car drove upwards providing more of a view, he saw that the rows of vines did in face stretch to the horizon no matter where he looked.  In his rearview mirror he couldn’t see any sort of city skyline.  As he left the city some time ago and indeed was at least an hour away from the closest village, he hadn’t really expected high rises.  He didn’t know what he expected.  ‘A smudge of smog maybe,’ he thought.  ‘A glow of lights.’  He glanced up at the sky.  It wasn’t a terribly bright looking day.  The sky was a uniform gray and cloudless as though someone stretched a dirty piece of paper over the world.  The sun was behind the gray but he couldn’t see it.  With the uniformly unbroken sky and the neat orderly rows of vines, he felt almost as though he drove out of the real world and into some child’s drawing of the world.  With the speed he was traveling the details of the vines were lost so they almost looked blurry enough to be a child’s drawing.  A talented child maybe, but still a drawing.  ‘I wish they’d get around to drawing a sun or something,’ he thought.  All of his drawings had a sun in them if he recalled.  A big round one.  He remembered coloring it yellow and then going over it again with the orange crayon and then alternating the rays coming out of it in yellow and orange. Admittedly all of his drawings featured buildings.  He was fond of high rise apartments with their many windows.  He could either choose to paint them blue like glass or put little miniature drawing s inside the window to show what all the people were up to.  He had never been one to draw farms, barns and cows.  He didn’t even really draw individual houses.  Those were things on television not his world.  The gable roof with a chimney spewing smoke was as alien to him as anything from outer space so all his buildings were rectangles of varying size.  He glanced out of the window again seeing only vines in every direction.  He turned the radio up another notch and began to sing along with it.  His voice was soft at first, more mumbling the words rather than singing.  The sound made him feel small and hesitant.  He cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter and began tapping the steering wheel, bobbing his head in time to the rhythm of the beat.  He took a deep breath and began to sing louder.  This world of vines couldn’t last forever.  Someone had to tend the vines.  Sooner or later he would drive out to a place where there were people.  After all it was a road and what was a road but a thing used to connect one group of people to another group of people.  Max belted out the final song lyrics of the song as it ended and felt better.  Soon there would be people.  Soon he would not feel like the only man on earth.  Soon his work would start.  A new song clicked onto the radio.  He smiled as it was one he knew well.  He turned the radio up another notch and began to sing along.

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