Shell

The drive to her final resting place was painful as memories came unbidden
to my mind. We had shared so much.

Yes, she had driven me insane at times but she had also looked after me for many years. Taken me on new adventures and experiences and even enabled me to become a man. The smoking had become a little worse over the years, but that was not the eventual cause of her death.

Seduced in my youth by her Italian looks and sleek rounded charms, her mature age had meant nothing to me as she embraced me that first time.

I was smitten.

Yet thoughtlessly I abused her generosity, attending to her needs only
when she complained. She might have lived longer if not for my
callousness. But now it was too late and my regrets meant nothing.
The red cancer had taken her away from me. Nothing more could be done.

Still, I tried, did my best even at the eleventh hour. Every potion and remedy was applied in the hope of prolonged life but I was thwarted at every
turn. Though her engine was still strong, far too soon for her age the shell of her body rotted and died from terminal rust, that abominable curse of all early Italian cars.