Lucy's First Road Trip

Chapter II: Butter of your Universe

Lucy and the rest of herself traveled along the endless broken highway of her dreams with her majestic pickup truck. Over 25 of the rocks were asking for her to live, yet 11 of them wanted her car tire to deflate like a German tank in the second world war. Her pale concrete eyes looked down at her finger tips yet her head stood still, hoping her fingernails didn't want attention again. "Paint me!" Begged her index fingernail. She sighed and pulled her car over to the road and told herself "Fine, I'll paint you." She rolled her eyes in her mind.

When she stopped, she rolled down her window to quietly adjust her painfully wistful window, just to be sure she was safe from the outside breeze of the pasts' currencies within. Her fingernails curled into a ball just as her grandmothers bathroom soap would want for her to do even though it was used and forgotten. She looked down at her fingernail with an unsettling smile, "Why did you bite me, my dear index fingernail?" And it replied not. She slowly creeped her face towards her index finger and whispered, "Don't you ever do that again or I won't paint you and replace you for Jack." She laughed exceedingly quiet.

Even though her and her best friend Index Finger Nail had a quarrel, she made up with it by soaking it in a trance filled dream state and applied silicone to it so that the vegetables imported from Sri Lanka wouldn't laugh at it. Then she grabbed for the yellow knee cap paint and her finger nails started jumping like excited smiling sharks at a beach. But she changed her mind, "Why should they deserve to be highly?" She asked herself.

"Try this." Said an unknown faint voice. Her face shrunk smaller than her kitchen cabinets. "Why are you saying this,I never asked you about her family, Sir, don't be mad it's just a flat dent." She asked, replacing her hand movements with hair waving to explain how he looks. Her chair armrest handed her a jar of a wet color in which there is no possible way to explain. The color was so holy that her face briefly flew around the galaxy and explored things that no scientist will ever feel temptation to chew on a little, but it was all irrelevant and welsh. When she composed her and her body occupants, she opened the jar and flew around her mind at the smell in only a second smaller than time itself, she quickly grabbed and gobbled like a horse for her hairbrush and dipped it, her hands shook without tremor and her hands were wetter than the Arizona sea.

She applied the mystically magical earwax fingernail paint that possessed door knob powers and applied it to her fingers, but it was too hard to see where to paint because of her never ending tears. So she accidentally painted the back of her hairline. She was too afraid of losing this magical substance so she went outside of her car to hide from her fingernails and started drinking the substance very, very slowly to take in all of the door knob powers. "I can win maybe, I have to eat more meat." She said with growing eyes, but her tears began to increase higher. Much to her utter surprise, she ran out of it over a month and a half ago.

Her endless scream could be heard from a few hops and skips away but it didn't matter. She freaked out and ate the glass jar tainted with the dead cow's leather from her hairy armrest. And suddenly she was okay and wore a casual, elegant, loud smile in the dew's universe where ever that may be. She sat in her car and I guess her fingernails got tired of begging so they died forever.

She remembered a wise quote from an old wise dog, "Never book a judge by its cover." So she let all of her anxieties free and turned on the radio and chilled to some music free of sound. "Why would you need volume?" Asked one of her lonesome bones in her right arm. She drove past 12 upside down men without faces and with a farris wheel mind, pretending to be vicious spiders hunting for beans in a cornfield. She unexpectedly grinned and all of the parts of her car gasped in disbelief calling her rebellious.

Then she drove past an old man named Time, her good old friend but he was leaving so soon, she started to hear a tear falling from her eye so she rolled her window over to toss it out so it could dry up on the hot fabric textured road. "Why are you leaving? I had so many questions to ask you, don't make me touch my hand again." She rolled her eyes forward. Her steering wheel grew eyes taller than her mountains and reached out to her possibly talking, but unconfirmed.