Tap, tap, schlit, ktchh, ktchhh-snap, crackle, ahhhh...
This is my sweetest friend, the stinging against my bloodshot eyes. The rolling, acrid smoke that pours from my lips after it has taken a long, rampaging tour of my lungs. This is the same smoke that will be whisping against my windshield, rolling out from the epicenter, being slowly drug along the dirty glass, and being shredded by the passing wind.
I can't die. It's too impersonal. It's almost sad, fifteen thousand miles of road, people, experiences, tradgedies and happiness all around me, but nothing able to affect my livelihood. I can't die away from this place. On the side of a road in Dakota, frozen from the settling snow. Along the beachs of Key West, scattered and torn by an abrupt storm. Buried in a landslide in Northern California after a monumental rainstorm. Bit by a diamondback while wandering the deserts in Arizona. Mugged and fataly wounded in Boston, stuffed in a dumpster behind an Irish pub. Obliterated in a car wreck on 25-A, not a mile from my final destination. Not gonna happen.
Won't happen.
Can't happen.
Too impersonal. Too quick.
The tendons snap under the pressure of the engine block, ribs compressed flat by the steering wheel, shards of glass shirking through eyelids and arteries, organs shredded by broken bones, popping like water baloons being sat on.
Too easy. I can't die. Can't. Won't. Shant. He won't do it. I'm still of some use, I suppose. And besides, my death shall be far more personal. Not just a simple out, but a destruction. That is how. Not just my physical self, but my mentality, my thoughts, dreams, passions. But, concern yourself not with eventuality. I won't.
I'm just gonna keep driving, each of you in my mind, and show you all the little parts of the world through my eyes.
...shards tearing...
...sinking deeper...
...horrific shrieks...
...metal twisting...
...teeth cracking...
Cheer up. I always come back.
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