Constant and inevitable

Where they intersected lacked any sense of precision, evoking the chaotic imagery of brakes slamming too late, skidding uncontrollably past a sharp turn. Hovering above it all was the ever-present yellow orb, dominating the upper corner of the thickly textured canvas a sun that seemed both constant and inevitable.

Painted in a shade I can’t quite recall was a single word: HOPE. Was it a secret message, cryptic and deliberate? Perhaps the mark of an underground rebel movement, speaking only to its most trusted members?