“If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory like scent. And it never faded and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.” –Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

Zhoumi looked out before him, it was a cold, desolate road, with no forks in the long road, no place to go left or right, it just kept going.  His tall frame leaned against his car, his fingers tightly laced around his keys.  Tears was b his red eyes, evidence that he had been crying before, his face dark and down casted, like someone had kicked him over and over.

He wiped the tears away and opened his car door; he slipped inside and started the car.  The engine revved to life instantly and he sped off into the road, the one with no choices, no decision to make from left or right. He just went off.