Isolation

He had been a real looker once. But that was long ago.

He was dull and faded now but there were still enough shiny red patches to inform the more-than-casual visitor of his original finish. There was rust here and there. The wiper blades had long since turned hard and were now crumbling. The tires were gone and the wheels were off the ground only thanks to the assorted blocks of wood and concrete.

There was plenty of evidence of the trauma that had disabled him. The roof was crushed in the middle nearly to the top of the front seat. The hood was gone but the trunk was still in tact. The passenger door was closed and might even open if someone should ever try. The driver door was open and would never close again.

Lots of glass was broken. The once proud engine was now cannibalized for parts. He hated the thought that his parts were worth more than his whole.

He could not understand why he was here though.

Even if he had to be here in this neglected part of the pasture, why did he have to sit out here all alone. They could have at least turned his face the other way so he could see the others. He wondered if he had done something so wrong that he was being punished.

The rain began again early in the day. He could tell there were storms coming. They would be followed by wind and summer was approaching with the unshaded Sun. He would hang on for as long as he could.

Some had survived long enough that they were bought and lovingly restored. But he was too young for that. But he was too old for someone to want to use every day.

He was in the middle.