|Green.... no a baby poo lime green more like it. The Dodson! What the hell is a Dodson, well this little monster was baby poo green with grey bond-o spots. The white vinyl interior cast every mar and mark, your eyes were set upon every misfortune. Years of degeneration showed evidently upon the inside frame. Scraping the harden plastic would set a snowfall of crumbling car around its inhabitants.
His body was free from dents or cracks, to run the engine needed a pacemaker idled higher than normal. Skid thread bare tires spun out at each stop sign or light. The air conditioner had long since been laid to rest, the air which flowed from the rolled down windows the only relief, as she spun quickly though the small town streets. A local cop shakes his head as he hears her squealing tires pull away. He does not wish to bother with another lecture, as exhaust fumes choke him.
Green has memories savored in his back seat. Rolls of toilet paper line the floorboard, his owners recent escapades during homecoming week. The girls rifling in, clogging up his back seat. The musical lyrics of teen girl giggles fill the air. Slowly he crept along, careful he was not to stall out. Green has to ensure their quick stealth travel into the forbidden yards of each friend graced with the decorative trails of Charmin. The girls bail out quickly with glee, as they set to their task. Each adventure a new remnant of reminder left behind.
His days traveling the same route, over and over. Green thought he could remember it in his sleep. Well that was if his little engine had a brain. He never blew a fuse, or allowed his temper to cause his radiator to blow. He kept his cool, kept to his job. Getting her to her next adventure.
As the years rolled along, Green began to feel his age. New tires....well new used tires would replace the worn balled ones. That man, the one who kept him running had to turn up his idle to give his old heart a boost. Crossing highways became more labor intensive, occasionally he would cough and sputter.
Still more memories to fill his backseat. Notebooks and binders tossed without grace their words and knowledge held together between the script of I love Tom, or Mel and Dave. Hearts, flowers, notes from friends. They all held their place here in Green's back seat.
Another memory he can feel it, as the giggling girls pile in. A damp foggy night, mischief graces the face of her, his driver. She putters down a dark road, the one behind the graveyard. As several girls began to twitch in their seats, his speed slow, the night moving faster than even him. A quick change, his tires spin. His headlights open wide, Green has lost his way, the road is behind him and in front of his lay a vast stone tower. The crunching sounds of smashing steel fill his ears before the death blow reaches his engine, he sputters and spits at the last grips of his life, his eyes open wide as the screams and gasps of shock echo is departure.
Mel and her friends file out the Green Dodson, each checking to ensure the other is alright. Actual fear grips the three girls as they look around. Mel's car lays in the ditch, a concrete slab his final resting place. Tear fill her eyes, while for a moment his life flashes before her eyes. Her momentary daze is shaken when she hears the calls of her friends. It is time to walk for help, "who is going to walk by themselves through the graveyard?"
Word count 621
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