Showing posts with label on the road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label on the road. Show all posts

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Highway Story.




Highway Story.

This is how it starts…

You’re stranded out on the loneliest stretch of highway in the darkest part of night. The heat is sweltering. A car pulls over and a man offers you a ride. A ride that you desperately need from a man you know nothing about. Because it’s no where and there’s no one, you take the ride and get in the car. Take a chance on the unknown. But that’s just how it starts.

Stranded.

Hotter than an apple on Walnut Street in the middle of July, there it was. My radiator. Just like that apple, hissing and shaking as the juice evaporates from inside. Sizzle. It’s that unmistakable sound of heat. The evening sky shows the last visible traces of light. Road is bare in both directions. I walk about twenty feet in either direction to discover nothing before returning. Sputters from the overheated engine maintain a consistent background din as I gather my thoughts.

Should have known better than to trust this bucket of bolts, but kind of like everything else in my life, I didn’t have another choice in front of me. The old Charger was just sitting there and it hadn’t given out any problems in a couple months. Besides, it was this or nothing and I had to be someplace in about a week. I think that it’s quite possibly the end of the line for the both of us, as I stand over the engine tapping at the front fender while the old girl continues to spew out steam.

10pm and the night air is hotter and thicker than a blanket. That kind of hot air that descends upon your bare skin with a touch of electricity as it wraps you up and leaves you drenched in wetness. Pretty much without an option I’m about ready to call it a bust and start walking.  When there it is, a vision of insanity brought upon by the heat-ridden mind. It’s the approach of a car, the only car, out on a road to somewhere straight through the middle of nothing.

The middle of nothing that reminds you of nothing on a blank postcard that sets on the front of your scrapbook. It was to remember a trip that existed years ago and you are never sure you remember it the right way. For the moment there is no other way as the hot night brings the only car slower and closer to the side of the road.

Postcard Trips.

Somehow my childhood memories always seem like a picture you might see on a postcard. Sunny days, beneath a perfect sky blue splendor with an oversized GREETING across the top of a two lane stretch of driving to heaven. Those two lane drives along the Great Highway. A stretch that spans from East to West and perhaps back again. Often those times seem like larger than life of perfection.

Oddly enough they weren’t always that slice of heaven that my mind likes to conjure up. No matter what happened in the past I can only remember the sunny day filled with crystal clear blue skies and sparse amounts of traffic along those two lanes roads. Even when it rained, or Daddy had to change a flat, the moments seem to pass through that postcard filter and come out better than they were.

Reality may have had the beautiful warm drops of a summer rain tossing across the windshield. My memory coats the day in a warm color of honey. The quiet hum of the engine provided the backdrop for sound while the soft music of the radio echoed into the sunny day. Seatbelts fasten to ensure the comfort of safety. Tick. Tick. Tick. Purring like a kitten the old car would drift down the blacktop.

When something happened it became like slow motion. Sluggish as it happened in a filter. Slowing down for another look that magnified the event. A lens that enlarges and removes the lie built in my head.

In the field next to the highway was a truck on its side. The car in front of us pulls off the road quickly and after the dust clears revealing its near miss of the rear end of the rolled truck. The approach was slow like pouring honey. As we approach the distant scene, there are arms and faces filled with blood removing themselves from the wreckage. Blood and pain all in the middle of a bright “WELCOME TO WHEREVER TO YOU ARE” postcard that hangs beneath the calendar on the fridge. Forward rolls our slowed down vehicle through the smoke and haze deeper into the postcard.

Mommy’s highest scream lets out into the perfect day. Daddy brakes hard. Still the postcard remains intact. The squeal of the brakes and black smoke surround as we miss the large oversized animal in the middle of the two lanes. Amid the pretty sunshine afternoon of “Wish You Were Here” there it was the bloody carcass of a downed animal. It didn’t look luck much of an animal. Daddy said it was and got out of the car. Maybe he missed it. I try to remember that he wasn’t the cause. That because in the instant of perfection he couldn’t be the reason.

Through the tiny wing windows there’s a partial view of the scene that Mommy told us not to look at. Don’t look at the bloody stump in the road with the arms and legs like a man. A bloody man, that seemed to belong in the other postcard along the side of the road with the people escaping from the truck. But he wasn’t there. He was in front of our car. Lying in the middle of the road. In slow motion movements, taking breaths and spitting out blood. Dying.  Mommy kept saying to look away. Don’t look at this postcard. No one wants you to remember the “Roadside Hotel” with its sunny warm skies, blue mixed with white clouds above the bloody mess.

The postcard they want you to remember is “Having A Great Trip” where the sun was always around and everyone laughs with a smile. Where there never was a thunderstorm along the way. They tell us it was an animal in the road. Daddy hit an injured cow and the truck spilled over was on the way to the livestock auction. This the way they want us to remember it. The perfect day in the middle of a postcard.

Somewhere across the state line…

Sitting in the passenger seat of this car next to a man that I know nothing about I keep thinking there’s another ‘anything’ three miles up the road. When it doesn’t appear, I stop and think it’ll be another three miles. Just wait and see. The game of hit and miss with my psyche continues until the man that I don’t know starts talking. Telling me about night drives and cross country trips where it isn’t safe that I’m a girl traveling alone. I smile and respond that I’m not alone and take a look at the dash filled with a broken radio and a hole where the ignition ought to be.

I should be frightened as there’s a chance this is a stolen car or that this man is a raving lunatic. But I’d be dead already if he wanted me to be. And he starts back up about how there’s no one to talk to on these types of distance trips. Says he bets that I’m the kind of gal that likes to have someone to talk to. Of course he wasn’t wrong I never would have minded company. Every now and again it’s nice to talk to someone along the way, whether it was a stranger or not behind the wheel.

Behind the Wheel.

That Charger had more than a few miles in her over the years. Maybe that’s why I thought she’d make it to him. More than a thousand miles had separated us before, what was the difference of two thousand? Many long trips and not a lot of strangers. Talking didn’t make a difference one way or another. Boredom on the long road was the same whether you had company or not. Even when he came along for the drive it didn’t matter. Although he could always make it interesting…

Remembering the quiet of the lonely road in the middle of the night. No one and nothing for miles. The only sounds are covered by the engine. Watching him, watch me drive from the corner of my eye. Him giving me that eye as if asking my permission to. All the while knowing full well that it isn’t possible when he isn’t in control. The only way it’ll work is if he’s in the driver’s seat. I want to be in control, but it isn’t possible. So I look back with an eye of my own. Lifting hands, the move is on.

Body slides across the seat. My torso lifts and waits. Hands slide up the wheel and around my waist. Carefully his foot moves onto the pedal and takes over the speed. Balancing above the wheel and around the dash, I spin to face him. My left temple makes connection with the rearview and it falls. Blood drips along my face. My shifting legs straddle and find a place around the seat. My back leans against the wheel. He’s behind the wheel, but letting me stay in control.

Quickly I reach down to find him waiting. Blood from my face drips down the side of his as I’m working toward release. Legs bend allowing me to slide downward. Faster he slams down on the pedal. I can feel the force behind the wheel. But it isn’t enough to stop me. Arms tighter. I can feel his tongue crash against my neck. Licking my wet lips I grab his face and gently turn his attention forward.

Heat of the moment. We aren’t watching the road. The sound of collision and horns break across the horizon of the road. Reaction forces him to compensate and pull off the road. Just as quickly as we’ve started, we are finished and yanked back into the moment. There’s a crash in the middle of two lanes out in nothing. A jackknifed Semi meeting a set of cars rests before us in the middle of two lanes amidst nothing. No sound. In this stopped moment there’s still warm blood on his face and my legs wrapped around him behind the wheel.


Further down the line…

The long road seems almost as long as the night. It’s only about quarter to twelve when I look around the car more carefully. Fully automatic and doesn’t need much maintenance. She runs pretty fair in the heat. I can see how this man gets by without much problem. So far it’s been smooth sailing through the empty night. It’s hard to imagine we’ve gone a hundred miles without a sign of civilization. Not so much as a gas station in the middle of no where. I guess they don’t call it the loneliest stretch for nothing.

Approaching headlights outline my companion’s features more clearly. Through the quick pass of light I can see a chin with a deep scar and a set of eyes that have been open far too long. Deep lines of wear and tear cross this man’s face and I still don’t know his name.  Nameless and boundless are the only things I know of this stranger. This strange man without a story rapidly speeds up and passes a set of tail lights that I hadn’t even seen us advance upon. Without warn a pair of head lamps jumps on and nearly misses us before disappearing in the rear view. Suicide. Some people like to play…

Suicide.

He tells me everyone plays this game. Promises it will be a lot of fun. Just let go and get into it he says. You won’t regret it. There are two us. Blindfolded and walking out into a crowd carrying nothing but a piece of cloth. For notice they instruct. Wave the cloth and we’ll find you. Don’t worry. Nothing can happen.

Silent and pushing forward quickly. Turn off the lights and drive. No brakes. No music. Keep going. No matter what happens keep driving. I don’t like this road. It’s too risky. There’s too many cars. Speeding and weaving unnoticed until it’s too late. Cars honk and swerve. Screams and panic escape the windows. Full throttle down the middle of two lanes in the darkness. The yellow line has a hue of green beneath the moonlight as it cuts down the center of the car. I want to stop. But they keep saying ‘Go’ and I do. Moving through the blanket of black unseen. Eyes are blinded by the bright lights of opposing traffic.

The hands reach out and shove. Go this way they indicate. But you must stay close to the road. It isn’t any fair if you walk the opposite way. Don’t worry. No one can get hurt. I’m to and she’s fro. We are walking into the belly of the rush hour crowd next to speeding traffic. Walk faster. I know this is what I’m supposed to do. I can hear and feel the movement of traffic within a foot of my face. No telling where she’s gone. I can only worry about me. Steadily moving ahead while shoulders slam into me.

Speed up and slow down. It’s like horizontal leap frog and the highway is our playground. Faster. Slower. While continuing to piggy back the car in front. Waiting until the right moment when opposing traffic meets the pass in a dance of death. Closer the eyes approach. Steady the pace continues until the right moment. Spin the wheel. Cross the double lines. Slam on the pedal. Roll right through and try to make it back again before something happens.

Too many hands too many voices. Whispering and gently urging against the pursuit forward. Bodies huddled together as they move. It’s like pushing upstream. There’s no warn for it when it happens. Perhaps the wrong stranger. Or one step wrong, you’ll bank off the curb and into the rush of oncoming traffic. Hands waving fabric and lips releasing sounds that will never be heard. The only sound that remains is the hard impact and shattering of glass amidst a sea of echoing screams. Don’t take off the mask. I don’t.

In the dark, you hear it before you see it happen. The slam of brakes is louder than the engine barreling down the road. Screams arch and descend in a musical opera of vehicular tragedy as the car impacts head on with the unsuspecting. Not a scratch upon my face. The wheel never moves. We are landlocked with a station wagon. Front end forced all the way into the front seat. They said don’t do it. I can’t help it. There are faces in front of me, all wrenched with pain as I turn on the lights.

Parting ways…

Three more miles turned out to be nearly two hundred miles. The bright lights of a solitary truck stop are a welcomed relief. You’re glad this man stopped to help the lone woman on the side of the road. You should be able to find help here. But this isn’t what happens. The nameless and boundless stranger says it’s time to part ways and you couldn’t agree more. You have somewhere else to get to and there’s no other option. You’re awful glad he stopped and well there couldn’t be a better place to leave someone. Well lit and nicely accommodated. That’s why you suggest he gets out nice and slow, and then keeps walking. He doesn’t see it this way. The revolver in your hand urges him differently. As he steps back you tell him… See on a boiling hot night out in the middle of no where maybe you shouldn’t pick up strangers. Now it’s best to get going...


Highway Story. Oddly enough this supposed to come today, but was not planned at all. Does that make sense? This is the other Auto related piece that I’ve talked about. This is one that should have come last year, but I didn’t think of it until this year. It reminds me of ‘Pain makes you brave.’ And seems like it would have fit in somewhere after that. Alright. So, this is one of the two pieces I’ve been at since the end of March. The form has been the challenge. I wanted to play with it a little. As you can see it’s begged and borrowed from several others in style. Although still its own creature. Anyways, there is more to come, including #5. Enjoy. m. 

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Motorcrash.

Motorcrash.
(12-17-09)

Weaving and gliding through the tightly packed patterns of traffic I find a path. The sun radiates on my skin. Warmly I take in the day on my bike ride. Sounds that emanate from the wheels of my bike are a soothing comfort to my ears. This afternoon could not prompt a better opportunity to entertain the wild thoughts that run rampant in my mind. Upon great lengths catastrophe should be avoided at all costs. At least that’s how most people feel about things. Well that’s what they’ll say anyhow.

Two lane black asphalt. Five car pile up. Smoky black cloud engulfs the air as the third car in the mess continues to burn. At minimum there are at least eight casualties among the wreckage. None of which are fatalities. Death isn’t what one hopes for in these situations. Often in the aftermath of a collision you will find a dead man buried deep within the twisted metal debris. Among those surviving are a couple of children watching the firemen scramble to clear the wounded and trapped within the pile. Quietly I remain in the midst of the spectators, invisible to the view, enjoying and taking in the beauty of this devastation that rests before me. My mind transfixed by its magnificence.

“What was going through your mind before you almost died?” This is the question they always ask. Immediately after the accident, before the scene is cleared away. Right after the cameras have begun to record every last square inch detail in full color for the evening news. Yes that’s what they ask each and every time. “Such a lucky girl to have escaped with your life! Especially on a bicycle.” I am a lucky girl. Except escaping with my life isn’t so much of a coincidence. It’s more like challenging death to a staring contest to see who will win. Poor innocent people. Oh please. Every time you get in the car you take a chance. Sit behind the wheel and gamble with the high stakes of mortality.

Nine times out of ten there’s a drunk driver to blame for the accident knowing full well the score of the situation. The drunks aren’t hard to spot actually. The sway of the intoxicated vehicle as it dances in and out of the double lines. Carefully the speed increases and immediately cuts short with the slam on the brakes. Really doesn’t take much to distract a drunk. Sound of a car horn. Small animal darting across the road. Person on a bicycle. Darting in and out of the traffic while gaining momentum. Slowly building a frenzied state of panic until it’s time.

Most people don’t watch the pedestrians or bicyclists on the side of the road. Two tons of steel wrapped around a flimsy bag of bones in under ten seconds. Drunks aren’t the only ones not paying attention. Imagine how coherent the person on the phone is? The mom yelling at a car full of screaming kids. Teenage girls gossiping with each other. None of those eyes are on the road. While the other one of ten percent is slim, it is out there and just as easy to blame for the accidents. Opportunity knocks and if you aren’t listening you will miss your chance.

Stop. Skid. Wait. Make eye contact. Watch the state of horror wash over the face of a person right before it happens. The world comes crashing down in front of my eyes. Speechless. I can’t help but admire the grandness of this moment. Metal snapping and bending with no more effort than a tin can smashing against the ground. Thousands of tiny shards of glass cross the pavement like miniscule pieces of shattered ice. Red glistening as it reflects off of shiny remnants of chrome. Noises within the newly born metal beast reach deafening levels. Release Pain. Alive. Relief. Cries. Revelation. Joy for life. An emotional melting pot among the survivors. Truth be told, you aren’t living until you’ve faced death. Makes you appreciate the simplicity of life. How truly delicate the human life is, as it hangs in the balance each and every day.

Larger the wreckage the larger the crowd that attracts to it. Spectators watching the rescues and wondering what happened. Thinking ‘that could have been me.’ Five minutes earlier down the highway and ‘that could’ve been me.’ Some calling their loved ones out of fear to share that last bit of mortality in case, you-never-know-what actually happens next. While others snap miscellaneous photos to send and document the event that they witnessed first-hand; the man being dragged out of the flipped car, the pregnant woman walking away unscathed from a crumpled tin can, and the children eating ice cream on the side of the road while the firemen put out the burning car sandwiched in between it all. This is where I find myself slipping away from the scene, amidst a sea of spectators wondering silently how this accident could have been more destructive than the previous.

Because I like to tempt the fates... This is from December. It was inspired in part by a song and by a friend who is an avid bike rider. It was a lot of fun to imagine. I'm amidst something in the same vein. Took a few days to re-assess the job stuff. About once a month I hit 'the blues' head-on and question my efforts in that department. You know, "if you're scared of something... go, camp out there for a few days and live with it." Does that make any sense? Anyhow, gonna try to get another story up later... Enjoy if you've never read it! M.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Tonight should be no different than any other.

Tonight should be no different than any other.

Tonight should be no different than any other. Except that it is. I’ve driven through this stretch of road a thousand times or more. We’re old friends, this lone expanse and I. I’d know the curve in the road like the back of my own hand. Yet something feels quite unusual this evening. The air is still and thick. I should be alone on this stretch of road as it winds, curves and gives way to hills and valleys. However, in the distance I can make out a pair of headlights approaching quickly. There’s a four-way stop ahead illuminated with the dim orange of a single streetlamp. We both slow and reach the stop sign. It’s a red pickup truck – horn sounds twice and brights flash. It’s Hank. Nice fellow. He’s out awful late, but very sweet of him to reassure me nonetheless. I flash back to let him know I’m ok. Car etiquette. No sooner than had I signaled, yet another pair of lights approach behind Hank’s truck. They pair appears to continue forward rapidly, as though they’ll overtake his truck and pass right through me. Hank’s blinker stays up another half second and he makes his right turn. On the edge of my seat in suspense as the anticipation grows. There’s no one behind his truck. All that remains is the orange glow of the lonely streetlamp casting oblique shadows on an empty road. I’m tired and must have just imagined it. Shake off that feeling of eerie and move along, as I’ve paused here at this stop far too long. There’s precious cargo to get home tonight. My little girl is sound asleep in the back seat.

Light rain has left the road is slick and glistening beautifully in the shadows of night. My trek home typically takes about a ½ hour through the very rural countryside. Often there's the hazard of hitting wildlife that has strayed too far into the road or the possibility of a fallen tree blocking the intersection. Despite the desolate landscape, the radio works quite fine out here. NPR is keeping me company as I make a sharp left through the Trout Creek community, which is home to about three residences. Hardly a community, if you ask me. Terrible night to break down as it seems the wind has begun to pick up and the light drizzle has gained momentum. We should be home shortly. Another pair of lights approaches from the rear. From the stance, it seems as though they belong to a rather large vehicle, which will overtake me at any moment. I hate to do this as its freezing, but I rolled down my window, extend my arm and wave the driver to pass. Nothing. Barrels down faster. I can hear the engine approach at full throttle. Maybe he didn’t see me? Urgently, I wave again, arm extended further out. Lights disappear. But I can still hear an engine. Did he turn off his lights? No. Silence. No one is behind me. Alright, I’m just sleepy. Maybe the car pulled of the road into one of the driveways. No sense in getting worked up, but I can’t tell that to my heart which won’t stop thumping in my chest. Naila stirs in the backseat. Shh. Go back to sleep, we’re almost home.

Radio off. It’s important to remain focused on the road. Home is about ten minutes away now. The darkest portion of the drive is just around the corner. There aren’t any homes in this last stretch of emptiness. Fear has set into my mind. Try to stop yourself, but it can’t be stopped. Once the fear has taken a hold of you there’s no chance of letting it go. Take the left bend and a sharp right. LIGHTS! Blinding. Imminent crash. Brakes, swerve, stop. Nothing. NAILA! Relief, she’s still sleeping. I’m hyperventilating, unable to catch my breath, sitting still in the dark with my lights facing the road. Pause. Engine revs. It’s not mine. There isn’t anything in front of me, except I can make out steam and the strip of tires burning in the air around me. Don’t think, GO! I throw the car in gear and head off into the night being chased by something phantom and unknown. Slam! I can feel the car being struck with violent force by an unknown entity. Tremble and struggle to keep the wheel straight. Faster, more speed is my only choice to outrun this demon I can not see. I’m terrified for my daughter. What remains out there isn’t human.

The road moves quicker out of my reach. It’s as though time is out of reach and I’m left trying to reach something that isn’t real. Slam. Crash. Bang. --- Think of the loudest noise you’ve ever heard and amplify that by 1000. I’ve driven right into something. Head on. My front end is wrapped around an unseen object. Steam and exhaust pour out from the car. I’ve hit the steering wheel with blunt force and my forehead is bleeding wide open. I can’t make out the road anymore. But to be honest, there’s nothing in front of my car, not an animal, person, or object, yet I’ve collided with something. It was like hitting a brick wall. Naila is fine in the back. She isn’t sleeping but looks calm and unharmed. I reach back to reassure her. They tell you to stay with the vehicle if you’ve been in a crash. Ordinarily I would, but this isn’t a normal circumstance. I crawl to the backseat with Naila and remove her carefully from the child restraints. We climb out of the car and move our way to the shelter of the roadside. Sitting on the shoulder of the road, I wrap her in a blanket and try to rock her back to sleep. Not long before I’m out as well.

Most people awake in a haze. I jumped to attention, as I’m not holding Naila and there’s a cool air hitting my face. I’m looking around and it’s still dark. We aren’t by the road. In fact, we’ve never left the car. Naila is sound asleep in the backseat. My front end is pristine. Momentarily I realize that the car has spun out again, but at no point did we collide with anything. Maybe I did hit my head ? How long was I out? Too long. Actually according to the clock, it hasn’t been more than five minutes passed since the last time I looked. Lights approach again. Clearly a little shaken I quickly try to maneuver out of this direction and drive. The lights slow as they move closer. It’s a black sedan. It stops. As do I. Out climbs an officer who approaches my car with swiftness. ‘Ma’am, are you alright?’ I nod. ‘A little bit of car trouble?’ Something like that? I give a puzzled look to the officer. He steps back and his face begins to peel away and his body melts before my eyes into a heap of clothing. There’s no car in front of me and no clothes upon the ground. I’m a mess slowly losing my grip on reality. Uncontrollable hysteria met with the necessary urge to see my daughter home safely.

Resume driving again, slower and more cautiously this time as the road winds into the night. My eyes move in shifts between the front windshield and the rear view mirror. Alone. Still. Quiet. Make my way down our driveway as the rain becomes steadier. At least we are home. I climb out and head to passenger side to grab Naila from her seat. She’s asleep, and I’m thankful for the little things. Carry her into the house, and put her to bed. It’s been a long night. I’m sitting for a moment to gather my thoughts. Asleep? I’d barely closed my eyes, when I heard it, that unmistakable cry of pain. Cool air on my skin. Open eyes. I’m in the car again. But it’s very much different. Naila is gone and so is the night sky. Dawn breaks before my eyes on the distant horizon. The car is wreckage. I’m trapped and in pain. My screams are piercing the silence. Will this madness ever end? At least Naila is safe, in my mind, she is out of harms way. Let this insanity take hold. Upon looking around I’m not alone. There are two other cars beside mine. One is completely flipped over, the other is untouched. Close my eyes and try to find the strength to free myself from this prison. Clawing at my seat belt and pushing with my legs to break out. Falling. I hit the ground. Eyes open. I’m on the floor in my living room. What is this madness that threatens to pull me under? Answers elude my tired mind. I can only hope this will be the last waking nightmare. What will become of this fragile mind of mine? Get up and head into the kitchen. The room shifts before my eyes and I’m walking outdoors again along the highway. Dark Night. Cold. Shiver. My breath escapes visibly into the air. Before me, lays the wreckage of a red half-ton pickup. It’s Hank. The cab is far too annihilated for any person to have survived. I’m uncertain of what’s happening still, but I walk over to assess the reality of what lays in front of me. As I near the wreck, the world shifts and I’m face to face with my refrigerator. Cool, aluminum, and silent. There’s no power in the house. Its blackness around me. I head back down the hall towards Naila, to make sure she’s asleep. As I maneuver the long hall there’s a trail of liquid running along the floor. Crossing over it twice with my bare feet, I’ve smeared this substance on the floor.

It’s only human to imagine the worst when you can not explain a situation. Light a candle. Blood on the floor. It’s a trail of wet sticky red that enters Naila’s room. Dimly in the yellow glow I follow the path. She’s still asleep, never stirred or moved from the bed. The red stops next to the bed in a large pool that’s unmoved. Swallow. Gasp. I’m falling again. My mind feels stretched to the brink as I try to grab a hold of anything. Desperately I try to rationalize but there’s no answers coming. The world rights itself again and it becomes clear, nothing is what it seems. I’m face down on the road. I’ve been thrown several feet from the car and resting in a pool of blood. Lift head. Look around. Back at the crash sight. What’s left of Hank’s red truck is wrapped around the front end of a black SUV and nearby a silver sedan is overturned in twisted pile. What happened? This isn’t real. But it’s all too real. Struggling to move, I slowly find my way upright. In darkness, the rain masks movements and it’s unclear if I’m truly alone. Walking, hobbling at my best pace, towards the roadside, I can make out a pair of shadows. One is a child. Naila. The other is… ME? They are asleep and covered by a small blanket. Did this happen? This is insanity. I run towards them and find myself slamming into the hall closet. Collapse. Dazed. There’s no blood on the floor.

Keep ahead. Try to put the pieces together before things change again. Nonsense.
Something happened out on that road tonight and my mind won’t rest until I’ve confronted it. Car keys. Naila. “Mommy, where are we going?” Shh. It’s ok. It will be soon. Drive. First bend. Nothing. Second hill. Still silence. Approaching the back hills on the outskirts of Trout Creek, we come upon pieces of wreckage strewn throughout the road. I swerve past two large fragments that are ablaze. “Mommy, I’m scared.” Shh. Just another minute. The road gives way to an expanse filled with emptiness and pours into a large wreckage ahead. “Mommy!” NAILA. Shh! It’s fine. “I’m cold.” Another minute. As my car nears its destination, the outline of a silver sedan becomes clearer. Can it be? The reflection in the mirror isn’t always what it seems. “Mommy, PLEASE, let’s GO home!” Stop. Get out. I’m face to face with the twisted metallic remains. “MOMMY!” Wait. NO! Look at yourself on the ground dying in a pool of blood. Naila! Pinned in the metal tomb before me. Turn around. Get back into the car. “Mommy, can we go home now?” Yes. Shudder. Let’s go home. Drive. Naila. Hold back the tears. “Mommy?” I’m sorry.


This is the one that threatened to end me. The one that I put away. I don’t like dealing with the ‘madness’, but I think those pieces are truly some of my darkest inventions. I’ve been really wrestling with ‘this’ right now and I’m trying to stay focused. I started this on 9/9/09 so I have been at this for a bit. What else can I say about it? This one is by far the longest as of yet. Aside from that other ‘one’ I’ve been writing in pieces - That’s another fun explanation. I personally don’t know if I like this one at all, or if it is truly finished. Indeed, I may revise. Probably. It just seemed like time to share the ‘thing’ that’s been destroying me. Oh yes, there’s a second ‘auto’ related story. It’s just in notes and scribbles right now. I really do like doing things in pairs or threes, or multiples. I’m unusual. There will be more. I’m trying. Now that this is behind me I think I may have freed up my mind. I hope. Anyhow… Enjoy? m.


*and as always... sorry for any errors.