by samuel siow, photo credits.
I ran towards it with warm tears soaking my eye-lashes.
It was too late. I heaved a sigh and crumbled to my knees. My hand slid into my pocket and I pulled out my car keys. The glaring red button mocked me in my current situation. I gave it a press and the beeping stopped. My car was in ruins. The car I held so close to my heart. The windows were shattered, the doors were scratched and inside the car was like a mechanical murder scene. I dropped onto my bottom as I curled into a ball, screaming internally in the middle of a quiet parking lot.
“How could this happen to me?” I whispered. “What have I done wrong?”
The tears that slowly slid down my cheeks resembled snakes, sliding down a tree before disappearing into the darkness. I flew upright as I rummaged through the heaps of dismay in the front seats. My hands burrowed through the empty CD cases of Fall Out Boy, speeding tickets and cigarette boxes. I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. They had taken it. Out of everything to I had, they had to take that. I slammed my face onto the driver’s seat. The letters from Mom and Dad were getting wet. My head flew up and curse words were uttered as the corner of an envelope jabs my left eye.
“I’ll just drive home and get this fixed up tomorrow,” I told myself. “Everything will be alright.”
I took a deep breath and cleared the catastrophe. I adjusted the seat back and I turned the engine on. I sat down and slammed the door shut. I buckled my rusty seat belt and adjusted the dirty mirror. I’ve never seen myself in the mirror while driving before; I never knew I had a pimple above my right eyebrow. I looked down at the pedals to see if anything was damaged. I turned left and headed towards the express-way. It was an awfully quiet night. My lungs filled and deflated, my drumming heartbeat filled the car.
A red light shone in the distance, I slowly pulled to a stop and slid out a cigarette. The fire from the lighter; the sound it makes, intriguing. The silence was deafening, my mind wandered about. A voice in my head was yelling at me. I closed my eyes and as I felt a shade of green on my eyelids, I slowly opened them and continued driving. The voice, it sounded like me. It sounded like I was screaming inside, reminding myself of who I killed inside my dream. I looked at the pale hands clenching the wheel: they were jaundiced from madness, and were sliding down the sides of the wheel. The crimson slits on my wrists were glaring at me.
“Stop thinking, stop thinking,” I whispered calmly.
It didn’t help. I find it hard to hide, my pride is no longer inside. It’s on my sleeve, my skin is screaming, my thoughts were exploding as I let out a shriek and slammed on the brake. The car screeched to a stop as I looked at the mirror. I was in a mess. My hair was dishevelled and my pupils were dilated with horror. I covered my face with my dusty hands and heaved a sigh. I continued driving.
I ponder something terrifying. This time there’s nothing to hide behind. The voice in my head gets louder, the shaking in my legs get violent. The car is still silent. I picture images in my head, of myself being different, lying to everyone. I discover the course of my existence, one thing filled with truth and that is I’m at war with fear. There is no one behind me but yet, I still hear voices of mockery. I’m forced to deal with what my mind thinks, there is no distraction to mask what is real. I hate this car that I’m driving.
At a speed of 90 miles per hour, things were going fast. My thoughts were racing as well. The lamp-posts decorating the sides of the express-way were creating shadows of my car, they grow taller with every subsequent trepidation that fills up this atmosphere. It gets frustrating every time I realize how twisted I am inside. My hands clutched the wheel harder than ever. I close my eyes. I hear a wicked laughter. Tears welled up in my eyes again. I pulled the steering wheel.
I open my eyes again. I am lying down, it is dark and confined in here, I could hear sounds of sadness and the pitter-patter of raindrops. I’m not sure where I am but this place is still; as quiet as my car was when somebody had stolen my car radio and I just sat in silence.
(inspired by car radio by twenty-one pilots)