Monday, June 6, 2011

Car ride (excerpt)


He shoves his buttocks into the minivan and sits with arms pushed closely against the new friends he has found. They drive for a few minutes and the group talking and laughing eventually blurs together leaving him a bit dazed, a bit aware. The awareness is one most hope to evade. It is a certain awareness of why the car is holding the friends, and why the laugh doesn't break a certain sound cap. He closes his eyes and visualizes a map through a city he has never been in. The map is filled tornadoes and lightning covered streets, carnage. The ground is collapsing and the trees are peeling apart, while he, the observer, goes from street to street to inspect the damage, to count the bricks on the street and draw imaginary lines connecting them. The bluish black sky above churns and is a necessary part of this map, because it signals points of future destruction. His eyes open and the memory of the sky lingers, pushing its way into reality, as the laughs return to his awareness, and he resumes his moment of social interaction.  

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