The post below began with this writing prompt, a few sentences taken from a short story called “The Raw Brunettes” by Lorraine Schein: “The Raw Brunettes sometimes run through the night, howling in their secret language at the moon. Or they ride on their black motorcycles, dark tresses flayed by the night air, skirts hitched up to show…”
I would have liked to do more with it, but short on time, and sticking to the spirit of just getting “it” down, here it is…
The Grungy Grays sometimes walk through the night, howling in their secret language at the moon. Or they ride on a hodge podge of mountain bikes, road bikes, and falling apart bikes, their graying hair flashing like sparks in the moonlight. They wear skirts hitched up over wild patterned leggings covering not so delicate thighs.
These legs were made for biking
And that’s just what they’ll do.
One of these days these legs are going to
Carry us to the moon.
They ride through the night, bike lights flashing, reminding them of the strobe lights they well remember from their bar hopping, dancing days. Their laughs are not ladylike titters but bellowing guffaws and nose snorts. Half a dozen bracelets, leather and metal, jangle from each woman’s arms. While knee high boots circle in a blur on sets of rotating pedals.
As they pass by houses, people look out to see what the commotion is all about. Vertical blinds are quickly drawn and behind them, people shake their heads. But once in awhile, another woman looks out, and dreams a grungy gray dream.
The pack of Grays move further into town. Not much of a town really. Because these aren’t city girls. Where they live, there are mostly bars with bad food that if eaten, guarantees a sleepless night. Not that they sleep much anyway, but they do try to stack the cards in their favor. Two Scoops is still open and with miles to go before they sleep, they deserve a cone filled with Coconut Almond Bliss, Dark Side of the Moon, or Carmel Chaos.
Rejuvenated, they head toward the river – ten women, forming a silhouette in the lights of the dam. They pause and listen to the sound of falling water and breathe in the combination of fish mixed with automobile exhaust, then continue on, spinning their gray-silver magic into the night.