He knows the road.
It’s mapped out in his mind.
Years of looped commutes, short cuts, detours, and stopovers.
There was a time he could have driven it with one hand, blindfolded, and stayed on course, but since his break the map is a minefield.
Scattered with doubt and sinkholes and wayward pedestrians dead set on making him a murderer.
His fingers clutch the wheel, the muscles in his neck constrict, pinching off vital transit lines to his brain. Only the darkest and most brutal scenarios unfold.
His eyes are tricksters. Show him turns that shapeshift into barricades. Horizon that twists into a row of animated billboards, pulling his focus.
His heart rams against his sternum out of time with the pulsing vein in his temple.
What was that?
A skipped beat?
A missed point of entry for his blood, now oversaturated with fuel for his fantasies. They feed each other. End over end, ass over elbows, until he’s tied up. Asphyxiated by his own mind.
His body is free, but he doesn’t believe it.
Can’t trust it.
The headlights flicker and his breath goes r a g g e d. He reaches forward to adjust the lights, but the hands are no longer his.
This next part was really sad to write, so it might be sad to read. Just a heads up. 💙
Forgetting April
My brain wants to forget April.
I keep mis-entering the date. Starting with a 3 or a 5 for the month. I rescheduled an appointment on May April 13th because I thought it was Mother’s Day weekend and I know I’ll have to work at my new job. We just got hit with a big, ugly, snowstorm. Those don’t typically happen in April. March maybe, but not April. And today it’s 68 degrees and sunny. Typical for May.
April isn’t even halfway over, and I’ve already put it behind me. That seems wasteful, and yet, I know why it’s happening.
Last April sucked.
It’s when everything broke. My brain. My heart. The trust I had in myself to manage my own shit while keeping my family safe from disaster. Because that’s the one good thing about living with a disproportionate amount of anxiety. It’s a superpower. You see what could go wrong before anyone else can. You can prevent tragedy. You can literally save lives. But in order to do that, you have to be there to save them. And this time I wasn’t. And because I wasn’t, my wonderful family is down one truly wonderful dog.
So, if I cancel April this year, it’s because it’s already too full. Too full of memories. Of dates, places, moments, and opportunities I could have done more, better, or different. Because if I had just paid myself a little more attention, maybe the nameless fear that hijacked my mind wouldn’t have found an opening. And I wouldn’t still be trying to outrun it.
And maybe if I hadn’t been so damaged by the breach to have temporarily lost my superpower, I’d still have my friend.
Because April would suck a lot less if he was still around.
And so would everything else.
This type of personal admission isn’t typical for Stock Fiction.
But what the heck is?
Thank you for being here, and ready for anything.
Always,
♥️
Is there a reason behind all the italics? If so, I missed it. If not, it’s distracting! [raised fist shaking] I did, however, very much enjoy the sentence “His eyes were tricksters.” Though, let me caution you against using the verb “feed” so close to the noun, “ass.” Pathos to bathos, they call it; pathway to bathroom humor, I say. [end comments on part one]
Condolences. 😢