Deja Screams

I know for sure this Tale would be easier to tell if I didn’t know how it was going to end. For the better part of the last few weeks, I falsified my life to make it appear like a drive along a tree lined country road. Tranquil, things falling into place, I have the Midas touch. Golden.

However, when day turns to night, both of my feet are firmly planted on the brake pedal, eight knuckles are white as virgin snow. The black steering wheel makes them look whiter.

The cars speakers belt out “Goodbye to You” by some chick whose name I don’t know. No goodbye to you bitch, and  I never even met you ! Laaa-La-La-La-La Laaaaa, by Sir Elton John; him and Suzy had so much fun. Isn’t he gay? Who the hell is Suzy? Is he really talking about a dude?

The squealing tires change their tune as the car hits gravel. Now they make a noise I can no longer describe, but I can picture the dust spitting from beneath the treads.

“I’m turning Japanese, I’m really turning Japanese, I really think so.” It should be, I’m losing my mind, I’m really losing my mind, I really think so.

The road is bending but I can only go straight. Of course there is a cliff at the end. Fuck me. The drop off’s jagged pinnacles make the Grand Canyon look like a pothole. My gums turn colors from the pressure of my clenched teeth as the car floats off the edge. As I plummet, I remember the tanked filled with expensive gas, just as a loaded freight train breaks from the earth like a bat out of hell.