Road Therapy.

Mounting up and firing the iron horse called 88 to life, the walls of the surrounding concrete canyon echoed with a sinister roar of a snarling stallion.
Two more steel steeds announced their displeasure at sitting idle.
Snapping the darkness away with white light and blue flame, the dirt rose in protest as the three snicked into gear in unison and painted the asphalt a darker shade of black.
Unleashed and full of fury, earlier today these chariots had given full measure of compassion for a child treated wrongly. Proudly carrying safely the newest young member of B.A.C.A. They had spent all the empathy allotted them for the day.
Rage was all that was left. This valley was gonna hear the bellowing angry scream.
As if to haunt the sleep of an abuser, the steeds wound up and casting showers of orange sparks they tore down the off ramp leading to the highway. The heat generated from the friction of steel on pavement gave the floorboard of the first iron horse an eerie glow, if only for an instant.
Just under a hundred and still gaining momentum the three riders held the steel reins of the chrome,war painted palominos racing to outrun the horror of child abuse.
The wind, rumble and speed would be the therapy needed.
The stench of evil would be lost in the dust, passed from view just for the duration.
Cool desert air was breathed to capacity in iron and flesh lungs. White and red streaks galloped clear.
The cloak of night swallowed the tragedies and injustices of days recent.

Tomorrow the world will still turn and the the destiny of souls will still follow.
But tonight....just briefly....nine broke free, three of steel and six of flesh.