The DeVille’s Belle

Good day.

I’ve been inspired to do some flash fiction writing the past month or so. The big reason is this group I joined on Twitter, the Flash Fiction Hive. This group presents prompts and you can either create a story or post a line or premise of a story. Since I haven’t written any pieces since “The Promise” (based on another Flash Fiction Hive prompt), I thought it was about time I get back on the horse. For today’s prompt, the story is based around a color. I chose the color yellow because I thought it would be a good challenge for me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my latest piece. 
As I finished the salad, the rain stopped. I was so busy with eating that I hadn’t noticed the sun-yellow car parked beside mine. Curious, I exited the cafe. I paced around the goldenrod beauty, a 1963 Cadillac Deville. I remembered Grandpa telling me stories about owning one in his day. The Deville was more than just a car. It was a symbol of prestige. Especially in the South. I swooned at the sparkly body. The brown leather interior. The shining wheels.

“Excuse me.”

A tender tone underneath the direct command snapped me from my daydream. I turned and a svelte, copper-toned woman appeared. She wore tight blue jeans and a blouse a shade lighter than the Deville.

“I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s alright. I get it. People like the car. And they’re shocked when they see a girl like me.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. The woman was classy. I remembered Grandpa telling me stories about women like her in his time. That they were the pinnacle of beauty. But they had a side to them that was anything but innocent. At least, that’s what Grandpa told me.

“Do you want to drive it?”

My eyes glistened. I gawked at what she was proposing.


I opened the door and sat. In my mind, I drooled over the feel of leather beneath my thighs. I marveled at the smoothness of the steering wheel as I gripped it tight. The woman slipped into the passenger seat. It was like she was teasing any onlooker to approach her. When she closed the door, she held the keys. The Cadillac logo dangling in front of me. I reached for them, but she pulled them back.

“Hold on, slick. First a few rules.”

I fixed my eyes on her as she spoke.

“One, you take the route I want you to go. And two, you give me gas money for the trip.”

I opened my wallet. I had a ten dollar bill, which I believed was more than enough to cover the trip.


We shook hands. Then she let go and I found myself with the keys. I inserted it into the ignition and turned the car on. The engine let out a mighty roar, then hummed. I felt like my face froze after hearing such a wondrous sound. I shifted the gear in Drive. I started to pull out, but hit the brakes as a black car sped past.


The woman gently nodded, then leaned back. I pulled out of the parking lane. I followed the directions she gave. A left onto Johnson Street, then a right onto Barnaby Lane. We went straight for a couple of miles, then turned right onto Axelrod Avenue. I couldn’t help heaving. I was driving the car of my dreams. At that moment, I felt among the elite. I felt I traveled back to a time, though unfamiliar to me, I knew from Grandpa’s tales. I was in the presence of an ageless stunner.

I stopped at the intersection of Axelrod and Dawson Street. A SUV stopped beside us. The window came down revealing an older man. The woman turned to him and she blew a kiss. I didn’t understand why, but didn’t want to intrude in her flirtation. When the light turned green, the man sped off and I turned right again.

I felt my dream was nearly over. I sulked and dug into the seat. But she stroked my cheek with her feathery fingers. I felt my smile recover. I made the last turn and saw the cafe. I eased into the parking lane, straightening the car as best as I could. I put the car in park and shut off the engine. I felt my breath escape me, but I wasn’t suffocating. I felt the blood rushing back to my hands when I released the grip. The woman stepped out the car. I didn’t want to leave, but I forced myself. When I shut the door, I went into my back pocket and proceeded to give her the ten I promised. But she grabbed my hands and pressed her lips onto mine. She inched away from me, smiling at me.

“Thank you for the drive,” she said. I watched as she waved, blew me a kiss, and drove off.


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