The wind is so wild when he steps out of the car that he almost falls over. Didn’t believe them when they said it would feel like negative twenty out here today, but what do you know I guess they were right. Bet it wouldn’t take long for someone to die of exposure out in this shit. He walks inside, prepays fifteen dollars, and refills his mug, which with a practiced hand he will presently jam into the nook at the intersection of the siderail and crossbar on the leeward side of the rooftop cargo box to cool down for a bit while he attends to fueling. By the time he holsters the pump nozzle and folds himself back into the miserable little Subaru his fingers are stinging and his beard is iced. But, the coffee has lost enough heat from its brief fling with the great outdoors to drink it straightway without scalding his tongue. How about that, something to be grateful for in this terrific mess I’ve made of my life. I’ll take it.
Sipping with his right he drives with his left out of the gas station and onto Interstate Iceway 70 to take his place at 35 miles per hour in the battered convoy of idiots who’ve for whatever reason decided to ignore the warnings and pleas of all those with half a gram of common sense to please, please not drive in these extreme conditions. He sails past the seventeenth capsized 18-wheeler of the day and thinks again of the thing he saw a couple hundred miles ago lying about fifty feet away from an upside-down pickup truck. A pickupside-down truck? Ha. Good one. Make a note of that. It was a dead man. I don’t know what else it could have been. I knew as soon as I saw it. The windshield was all crashed out. The police were just pulling up. Maybe they were fine. Just taking a nap right there in the median. In a pile of snow. In sub-zero weather. I’m tired. I’ve been driving for how many hours now and my brain is trying to play tricks on me. It thinks someone died on the highway and then a few minutes later I showed up and just drove right by like nothing to see here, nothing to see here. That’s not what happened. Nope. Everything’s fine. Happy holidays. Two thousand years ago the Romans crucified an anti-establishment Israeli rebel named Yeshua bar Yosef so yes by all means let’s spend every fucking December from now on getting into fights at Walmart and guilt-tripping family members into traveling halfway across the country and absolutely ruining a few days of much-needed time off work. Anger and hatred. Bottle it up. Stop pretending to be a good person because everyone knows that you’re not.
Attempting to suspend his belief and failing yet refusing to admit defeat, he continues driving west and even though he is ever so violently alone he is also very much not alone at all, because his mind rides right there beside him in the empty passenger seat, as always and despite my best efforts. I accept it but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t terrify me every day. Everywhere he goes it is unavoidable. I can’t seem to leave it behind. He feels like he could fly to the fucking moon and it would still be there. I don’t know why I thought a random trip to Topeka and back would somehow help. But it wasn’t really all that random, was it? You went there for a reason. Shut your fucking mouth. I’m just saying. Shut the fuck up! You went there for to get a gun. No shit detective! You had a reason. So it wasn’t random. Okay fine, yes, I drove all the way to Kansas to buy a gun, will you just shut the fuck up already? I’m trying to get back home in one piece, I don’t need this shit from you right now. Okay easy man, easy. Sorry. Jeez. Just wanted you to know I’m here for you whenever you need me. We’re cool, right? Fuck off you goddamn piece of shit. You’re the reason I bought this thing in the first place.
He drives on and on and on and meanwhile his mind yammers away nonstop filling the endless flatland miles with neverending tales of failure and fear and self-loathing, just as we always do, and then eventually we turn off at Colby to have a nice long panic attack at the local Super 8, where once we’ve finally recovered we arrive at some kind of weird how have we not realized this before realization that the reason it gets worse when people try to help is because it feels attacked, and it must defend itself by digging even deeper. The claws are in and I wish there was a way to get this fucking thing out of my head. I would do anything for it. Well, almost anything. I wouldn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.
He has perfected the craft of leaning back in chairs and staring at ceilings in lonely overpriced cheap motel rooms and now once again he does exactly that. Gawdy stipple finish up there. He thinks of that one girl he dated years ago who spent hours and hours stripping her entire house of the stuff. Like all the ones before and since that one ended ever so very badly. He wonders where she is now and whether or not she would say hello if their paths happened to cross. I hope she’s doing well and I also hope I never see her again. My life is as obsolete as this popcorn ceiling and just like popcorn ceilings it seems as if people would rather not have me around these days. It is what it is I guess. Five beers in now he coldly recalls his recent activities and contemplates his existence with respect to whether or not it matters concluding drunkenly that it does not. He watches his entire life march by in doubled vision against that acoustic backdrop above. It’s not a very good show. If I were you I wouldn’t bother making popcorn for it.
Gun in hand face made up with clear traces of what crying that hard for so long does to someone’s face he paces back and forth across a flat-carpeted floor stained in various places by the gods only know what sort of horrible diseases and suffering. Someone with a history of alcoholism, severe mental illness, persistent suicidal ideation, and an actual suicide attempt by intentional overdose probably shouldn’t be allowed to buy something that can render one forever done so simply and instantly. But let’s not forget that this is God bless America after all, and that God bless America is not a country governed by such industry-standard requirements as reason and compassion, and so here we are staring in shock and awe at our brand-new pistol, which by the way how the fuck did we actually pull this off? How is this thing really in my hand right now? He really likes this pistol. It looks nice, feels nice in the hand. This is a good pistol. He is a dead man. I can tell you for sure based on my own personal experiences with being so exposed to psychosis that he’s a fucking dead man. So ready, set, and go throw caution to the wind and let the mind games begin now. I’d say tonight’s gonna be a really good night for an exercise in creative writing just so long as he’s okay with being our pseudonymous puppet for however long it takes for this storm inside my head to stop howling at us so bad. He sits back down, sets the gun aside for the time being, opens his laptop, and starts typing like his life depends on it, which it does. Hello there. I like what I see. How’re you doing this evening?
This bears reading several times. Powerful. Haunting. Superb.
I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the generous comment 😊
Welcome to The Ink Well @unholyghost! This is poignant tale, which highlights societal alienation in a way that forces you to look. You are a VERY talented writer, we hope you take some time to see what we are all about here, and perhaps participate in some of our contests! We would truly love to have you! :)
Here are some important notes as you get to know our community:
Again, welcome!
Thank you @theinkwell - I appreciate the compliment and the community you've built. I'll be around 🙂
This is written with a rising tension which boils over, leaving the reader stunned. You express so much about alcoholism and it's relation to the coldness of society; the lack of anything better to fill the void with when relating to what's around you feels impossible... And there is the gun, egging you on. I related to this story in a way which captivated and horrified me. You're a great writer!
I know this is labeled as fiction but... I hope you are okay. You are important. 💚
Thanks for taking the time to read. You've done more for me than you'll ever know just by posting this comment. Little things like this make me want to keep going. Peace 🤗