Jerry limped to the top of the hill, then stopped. The two-lane blacktop wound down the hill and disappeared into the trees. Beyond the trees, out of sight, lay the river.
Jerry had driven this road many times, hundreds of times, but never walked it. You don’t know a road until you walk it, he thought.
He looked back. A gauzy haze hung on the horizon. Three black threads of smoke rose into the gray sky.
Nothing moved on the road. No cars. No people. No dogs.
Jerry’s feet hurt. His shoes were not made for this.
He went on.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: Road at Thin Spiral Notebook.
This sounds a little ominous… hmmm.