They’d eaten nothing but borscht for three days. This was van life.
Especially in the winter. Living out of a van and seeing the world sounded like a great idea, but they had no kitchen, and diner food and gas got expensive after a while. They didn’t work, so much as write travel stories and diner reviews. The last bed and breakfast they stayed at gave them a large quantity of borscht. It was all they had.
After losing Marco at the swimming pool, it was nothing but road. There was no home to return to. Their boy was lost, and so were they.
“Let’s go south.”
“It won’t help.”
No. It never did.
Why they kept going, they didn’t know. But it was better than stopping, they reasoned. If they stopped, they’d never move again.
The borscht was cold in the plastic-wrapped bowl. Everything was cold, and the gas was running out. Silently they both prayed that they wouldn’t make it to summer. Summer, the time of outdoor pools. Of joy.
The borscht ran out first. The gas second. They stopped moving.
Day 178’s three random prompt categories were, “On the road again,” “Winter wonderland,” and, “Borscht.”
Sheesh, a lot of downer stories lately, eh?