The Hitch Hiker - by Sam

Sun streaked the dusty windscreen. The wing mirror reflected the tired circles beneath my eyes. My eyes a shade of grey, so clear they didn’t fit. A patch of rust sprouting on the bonnet distracted me for a moment, almost causing me to crash. Dead ahead, beneath crowded trees and lazy afternoon sun, stood a shadowed figure. An arm, tense and long, lay outstretched in mid air. A ray of light suddenly illuminated the young mans jagged face. His hair stuck out from his head at odd angles and the fuzzy line of his face made him resemble and unfinished sketch. He wore a soft smile, showing his pearly white teeth. But below his calm exterior I could sense guilt, desperation.

As I pulled up beside him I saw what he was wearing. A shirt hung limp over his bony shoulders. His dark wash jeans, far to long for his bandy, skinny legs, settled in the dirt surrounding his feet. At a closer look I saw that his face was crude and misshapen. Scars ran across his muddled features. He backed away slightly as I leant over to open the door. His eyes were a timid green. They didn’t seem to fit.

My long, auburn hair flayed across the stained seat. A small screech rang out as the door jutted open. As I leaned back, my body grazing over elements of the ancient car, I looked up. A smile curled over my slender cheekbones as he edged his way into the passenger seat.

As we slugged along the road, a trail of smoke behind us, the trees thinned to reveal a serene meadow. Flowers bloomed along the edge of the growing dirt road only to be flattened by the silent swerves of my old Ford.

I felt like I was wandering through the the dark. I knew this man but I knew nothing about him. Like a match I tried to strike up a conversation, only to have it produce a small flame, falter slightly and then plunge into a familiar darkness.