This hairpin

It rested between her forefinger and middlefinger, getting twiddled lightly. A distant thought robbed the pin of its due attention.

“It’s like a fire, Kate.”

He’d sounded so earnest, so hopeless. But not all fires must be extinguished! Rain can be evaporated, tears don’t need to smother. And only caged fires in a hearth will die if left untended.

The night shed droplets and the road grew slick. She fiddled with her barrette and put on the high-beams. As the road turned sharply left she continued in a straight line and silently crashed through the barrier, soaring into the valley.