Ficly

pilgrimage

They drove us around in circles, as if we didn’t have to eat or sleep or shit. The first two we could do in the car, anyways, so they must have thought it didn’t present an issue. Every morning we unstuck ourselves from the humid seats and sighed against the windows until nightfall; the sun rose and the sun set and nobody was any different because of it. We crossed roads and we crossed borders. After long enough, they were all the same. We no longer cared if we were passing into Afghanistan or Jordan or even Heaven. By the end of the three months we only wanted to be still.

View this story's 1 comments.