Mother insisted it be painted. Rodrir conceded choose a bright red. All the best, the fastest were red. Mother said no.
She countered with yellow. A sickly green yellow one could see from across the valley. Mother said it was so she could keep track of Rodrir as she went flying about. Danger was the currency of the day and Mother knew that this engine capped with a saddle would go careening about under its own will, ignoring its rider, caring little for the intents or inclinations of Rodrir.
Getting lost in these winters was easy. Getting lost on an enduro even easier. Thrown from the road into a crevice to be found some summers hence was the tale Mother told. She persisted with the yellow. Saying that Rodrir will stand out, that she’ll be just as fast as the others, that it was her skill that mattered.
Rodrir painted her enduro red regardless.
Mother countered once more - copper.
Bright, shiny, expensive, unique - were the arguments. All Rodrir saw was her reflection. She saw herself in her enduro and knew it was meant to be. So she acquiesced and let Mother paint over the red.
On the first turn Rodrir nudged the barrier, drawing out stripes of living red from her enduro. The vehicle bleeding speed. The second turn saw her go flying off into the winters.
Today’s artwork is courtesy of Andrei Riabovitchev from Ascot, United Kingdom.