Spring journey in a wheeled prison.

On the radio, the harmonious melody of a  Spanish guitar, interrupted by the noisy engine of the old Citroën, flew in my mind as a gentle and rhythmic whisper.
In the distance, rocky giants stood silent, motionless, oblivious to the trails that time had gradually drawn on their skins.
Through the dirty window, the indigo blue sky seemed to have a duller tone; the birds flew with their joyful trills in the last Sun of the green bathed in violet spring.
Occasionally, shooting comments from my parents fourths me to the reality, from where I turned to flee instantly. I did not like that old car; I hated the loud rattle, the dirty smell... I always roll down my window to breathe fresh air from the outside. I loved to feel the wind, infused with the sweet smell of spring, caressing my face with violence and messing up my hair.
I began to feel freedom in that prison with wheels, but my Epiphany last few seconds, and when I returned to reality, the wind already didn't caress me anymore, and silence had taken over the motor and the radio.