Pictures that tell 1000 words

The victory of a defeat

8th March 2034

Drive...

It's all Joe could bring himself to do in that moment as he felt his spine shudder at the silence which had enveloped in the car that evening. The deathly silence of a family which is usually so lively and so full of colour and laughter, that it left a mark in the air that the father could not bare to be stuck in. 

And so he drove.

Drove with the sole intentions of making it back home - back to the walls with stories to tell - back to the dog - and back into the sanctity of the livelihood which his family usually represented. But for now there was nothing. Not a single smile - not the gentle fuzz of the speakers blaring out tunes - not the simple sound of a sigh of relief coming from any of them. Instead, just the continuous rumble of the tires along the meandering concrete road as Joe drove the car back home - following the vehicles around him like sheep. The desperate need to get home being the common courtesy amongst the drivers that day. Their only differences being their fickle reasons for having left home at all.

Taking a glance to his left, Joe took in the solemn features of the woman sat next to him. The woman who eight hours prior was singing songs at the top of her lungs - a wide smile plastered across her face as she twisted and turned her body in any way she could - the bitter control of the seat belt limiting the dance moves she could do, yet not stopping the buzz which the red head was famous for exuding. But now she was sat deadly still. Her wide unblinking eyes and flat lips leaving her in an almost tranquil state. Her hazel irises reflecting the subtle tones of the setting sun before them. The watery film of an un-shed tear highlighting the way that she felt. Her eyes gently scanning over the harsh patterns of the trenched leather on the dashboard. The buzz which was the very essence of her maiden name, now dissipated in such a way that a stranger would instantly assume that it had never existed in the first place.

Chancing a second glance, the man looked into the rear view mirror. His eyes not catching the ever increasing speed of the vehicle behind him, rather the stop frame caption of the two people sat in the back seats. Their heads pressed firmly onto the glass as the two of them looked wistfully out of the window - the simple admiration of the countryside which they were whizzing by for sure not the thing they were concerned about. 

What struck Joe the most was how his son was sat in a way which was so far from his normal behaviour, the father considered to stop the car to check that he was still himself. That he was still alive in the such characteristically Alex way which the brunette adored. His eyes were firmly set out the window - a slight shake to his hands as he sat there in silence. No random questions or stupid jokes. Just the harsh reality of the young, bubbly boy who had been sat fidgeting the entire day, now sat perfectly still with nothing to say, simply out of respect for the young girl sat next to him.

The young girl who now held the full attention of Joe's heart. The young girl who he was so, undeniably proud and in awe of, who just wouldn't take the joy that he knew he was feeling as an answer. It was very clear that even from a young age, Lily knew what she wanted. After her first ever dance lesson at the age of four, both Dianne and Joe knew that it was where she belonged - and thankfully where she wanted to be. But after a day like today. A day which had left the lively - smiley girl, into a girl with the minimalist features of  a tear stained cheek, a shaking hand, and a trembling lower lip. A day where her confidence had so evidently been knocked, that it broke her fathers heart to see.

But still he drove; knowing that there was nothing he could do to lighten the mood that evening. The mood which, in a very weird way, he didn't want to tamper with.

So instead, Joe sat back - kept his eyes on the road - and allowed his mind to wonder off into a story not to dissimilar to the one that he was writing in that very moment.