Suzi Romaine: A Girl, Her Beetle and Her Empire
an excerpt

The searing hot sun scorched the desert all around the young woman, who lay face down in a tangled heap in the hot New Mexico sand by the side of the old unpaved road. Her business suit skirt and sleeveless blouse were smudged with oil, smoke, sweat and dirt, and her bare arms were red, blistering and peeling. Her blonde hair, shoulder-length, was scorched in places, scattered about her head, sand, engine oil and prickly thorns tangled within.

The stillness of the moment was broken by a small, nearly imperceptible movement of the young woman. She moved again, her head slowly, shakily lifting to look out ahead of her. Her face was as sun burned and blistered as her arms, and through streaks of soot and dirt, eyes and lips showed the faded memory of make-up, applied mere days ago but in another world.

The woman was gazing out in front of her, and though all that was there was an expanse of desert wilderness, her eyes focused on an image. Facing the sun, in its glare she could make out the silhouette of a young woman, like her only very different. The details couldn’t be made out, but the woman appeared to be wearing an old-fashioned, loose-fitting man’s coat, like something out of a pirate film or historical battle reinactment. The woman was reminded of a long-forgotten drawing she once did as a child. The backlit image seemed to be smiling, and mocking the woman on the ground. She believed she could hear the image speak.

“Pathetic. So, this is where it got you, eh? This is what you made of yourself.”

The woman tried to reply, but her words couldn’t scratch past her dried, tender throat.

“Nothing to say in your defense, huh? Well, what could you say -- we both know how you got here!”

The woman in the sand shook her head slowly.

“Oh, come on! The time for pretense is over, honey. You really don’t know how you got here? Well, let’s review, shall we?”