Betttina Mae De Mesa

Dr. Ochoa

English 301; 2:30 PM

8/30/15

Rose-Colored Hatchbacks

The scent of artificial cherries invaded my nose as I set foot in the dilapidated but cherished

family hatchback. Oatmeal colored stains covered the interior displaying the casualties of war between

an elderly machine and ruthless toddlers. The slippery leather caressed my thighs as I made a pilgrimage

to the leftmost seat. My head rested on the window as my hair bathed in the pinkish wash of a setting

sun. As I gazed upwards, the sagging face of the ceiling greeted me like an old friend. My peripheral

vision caught the light bulb fighting to stay aflame like the glow of a candle on the last inch of its wick.

Space quickly became sparse as my siblings charged through the door in a manner that was comparable

to the stampeding bulls in Pamplona. The skin of my legs kissed the salty limbs of my brother’s which

elicited a powerful roar of disgust from my pubescent kin. Moments later, cacophonous sounds of

different timbres filled the canals of my ear as two conflicting conversations battled for dominance.

Sighing with visceral defeat, I focused my attention to the world outside the moving receptacle. Peering

through the dusty glass barrier, I saw a landscape becoming engulfed by the salmon colored hue of the

setting sun. I closed my eyes and imagined my presence centered in the gentle touch of the olive colored

grass. The image grew farther away as I heard the awakening of the weathered car. My vision, once

enhanced through rose-colored lenses, reverted back and placed me in the leftmost seat in the

dilapidated but cherished family hatchback.