Windows:

Prose based on a prompt.

She drove past a little late than usual.
Her languidity nibbling the fatigue of a tiring day when struck on a traffic jam near the traffic light that made no sense at that juncture at the junction.

The moon was a complete circle whose slivery rays of silver silhouetted a rather morbid night.
Her own honeysuckle fragrance fading into a whirlpool of dollops, she looked around in frustration at those vehicles moving in a tortoise’s pace.
“What the hell is this traffic jam?” she vented to herself, her angst mere whispers across the four corners of her four-wheeler. She looked around, opening her windows, gazing through
motorists trying to peep and peek through between narrow gaps, one with a wife carrying a baby at the back.
“Endangering their lives!” she lamented unveiling her own anguish.

Across the pavements, a dozen people were walking, clothes tattered, carrying bags like bundles of pillows, seeking shelter, two young children among them, emaciated, dried flum
from their noses, trying to match and catch the steps of adults.

An array of appalling thoughts spung past her like a quick reverie; her windows opened her to a new world, a dawn of thousand thoughts flashed, her infinite dreams faded into her own shadows of complacency.

“Pom, Pom”, a car behind her honked. She came back from those quick whirlpool of thoughts that taught her contentment.
Reality jolted her.

Copyrights @Brindha Vinodh

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