A Familiar Tune

The old Ford coughed and sputtered, a tired beast on the verge of collapse, much like its driver. Alex gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as the gravel crunched beneath the tires. The moon, a sliver of bone in the inky sky, offered little solace. It had been a long day, a long week, a long stretch of empty days and hollow nights. The bottle’s shadow, a constant companion, felt particularly heavy tonight, clinging to her like a shroud. She’d tried to outrun it, to drown it, to erase it, but it always found its way back, a persistent whisper in the deafening silence of her own mind.

The radio, a relic of a bygone era, crackled to life, spitting out a melody that sliced through the fog of her despair. It was a song, a simple, achingly familiar tune, one that had once soundtracked stolen moments, whispered promises, and laughter that felt as bright and boundless as the summer sun. Suddenly, the dusty interior of the car dissolved, replaced by the vibrant hues of a memory, so vivid it stole her breath.

Cody.