“A Rusted Development” – 257 words
It was Herbie who’d gone on to all the acclaim, Herbie who’d gone Bananas, who’d gone to Monte Carlo, who was known as the Love Bug. It was Herbie who’d achieved fame and fortune.
But it was Herbie’s grandmother who had launched it all: the drive for success, the revving to explore, the gunning of the engines to make something of herself. It was Herbie’s grandmother who’d transported first Jews escaping from Germany, then Nazis on grand parade (she’d blown a spark plug in protest, but it hadn’t been effective for long, since they’d had mechanics on stand-by for just such a situation). So she’d frowned the entire length of the route, hoping the creepy mustachioed man would fall out of the open-aired VW ahead of her. No such luck.
Later she’d become the “in town” vehicle, the one used to drive the kids to school but not across the country. She’d longed for the open road, flying along the Autobahn, feeling the wind against her fenders. But her chassis had started aching and occasionally her belts felt squeaky, so it was with gratitude that she’d lumbered leisurely through city streets, suffering the indignity of ice cream dripping on her seats.
Now look at her. Relegated to a field. Oh, the little boy she’d chauffeured as a child kept promising he’d restore her to her former glory, but she knew better. She was O.K. with that. There was still Herbie, after all. She just wished he’d tone it down a bit. Kids these days were such show-offs.
I really did write this one in a flash, since I’m supposed to be packing for London, but I’d love your feedback anyway. 🙂 And please come join us at Flash! Fiction Friday – you can read the very entertaining and varied takes on the same prompt, and maybe give crafting a small story a whirl yourself.