(Disclaimer: If the mention of body organs and slight hinting of lust offends you, don't read this. This is my first original, so advice would be appreciated!) Blackened Road:J.P WolfHis foot drove the rubber pedal into the shag carpet of his car, making him white knuckle the steering wheel; White, yellow, and red racing past him like a bullet tracing its mark. Did he care if he went up in a great ball of fire? No. The rush was all that he wanted that night, nothing else. Not even a woman’s touch or body could have satiated his urge. He was no longer driving a car; he was clinging to the skeleton of an unstoppable primal beast, finally released from its prison. The black of night crept among the leaden colored road, masking anything or anyone. The speed made his blood run hot, and it felt like his heart was pumping battery acid through his veins. He sank back into the leather seat, focusing on the speed and thrill while the chilly wind cut through his hair and broke his skin. Street lights turned to flashing balls of light, and the sound of oncoming traffic next to him turned into a waterfall of noise. Sensations washed over him like a rushing wave of water, but only fear and pleasure entered his body as he lost himself in the rhythms of the road and the music of the recently switched radio. If it wasn’t for gripping the wheel he would lose himself completely in the music flooding out of the car. His head slowly turned to glance at the seemingly transparent cityscape. Jagged and perfect angles of buildings, the graveyard of depravity, disgust, and hopelessness was distant yet close, much like the ever lingering chance of an accident. Figures cloaked in shadows with bright lit faces clicking and clacking at their phones, gawking at the newest star spangled drama lined the streets. Most of them didn’t care for when they would meet their end, or know for that matter. Would they look up at just the wrong moment and see a raging tornado of steel and rubber heading their way and now it’s too late, or would they only know once it slammed them like a hammer on a nail? Maybe it was their way of forgetting where they were; a place where the sound of women getting pleasured was as common as a car horn. Maybe that was the reason why he was losing himself. He wanted an escape. Permanent or temporary he did not know. NO! DON’T STOP, NOT FOR A BIT! Will it ever come? These were the voices in his head; Voices that are his, but is not his own, almost like people talking in his ear while he drove his life away. Among the voices were inaudible screams. Without much notice, he saw red lights in front of him. Swerve, miss, swerve, miss. He was lucky. He simply gave a crazed laugh out, and went faster. That was close. Am I going to be that lucky the next time? The chances are 50/50. He continued to serve in between bright and dark cars, jittering at the rush it gave him. Most of these people around him made him snarl his lip in hate and contempt. Will they ever know true thrill? Their idea of a thrill is some car with rails surrounding it while it was buzzing and zipping on a solid steel exterior with the wheels connecting. The damn thing even stops if there is a sign of slight sign of trouble. The feel of fear and anxiety was only a hint; a small drop in the sea of fear that he was feeling. Maybe they watch simple horror movies and get tense at the climax or any scare in the movie. Those things sicken him. A true feeling of fear is when you’re speeding 80 or 90s miles per hour violently swerving in and out of a maze of cars, missing each one by the skin of your teeth Advertisements saying how you can be on top of the world, you can do whatever you want, and you can be a rockstar hangs all over this wasteful, shallow city like deserters in the civil war. These were the reasons he welcomes death with open arms. “I want to burn every bridge I haven’t crossed, destroy every monument I haven’t seen, kill the people I will never meet, wreck the cities I will never set foot in. I am the dirt that this world is built off of; Lay your foot on me for I am the ground you walk on. I am god’s unwanted bastard.” His breathing fastened, and he white knuckled the leather bound determinant of his life. His body began sinking in even more as he got faster, lust fueled by fear, fear fueled by desire; this was a vicious cycle. Maybe he welcomed the cycle? Maybe he yearned for the ever lingering fate of death. Was he doomed for hell, or set for purgatory? Would a god let him in for his past sins and no forgiveness? Is he doomed to walk among the lost and forgotten souls of purgatory? The fact that he was debating religion at a time like this made him laugh. After all, a god didn’t do a damn thing for him. He doubted that there even is some great being in the clouds or at least a merciful one if there was. War, Famine, death, Pestilence, all plagued the world; riding their horses across the living graveyard that was this world, picking off people like a kid picks off the legs of a cockroach. As the car got faster, what little fond memories he had started flashing before his eyes, was this normal? Was it normal to miss the good memories no matter how few you had? Was he in fact ready to meet his maker, or has he seen the light and clawed out of rock bottom? Was he finally turning around and looking on the bright side of life? Maybe it was false hope of finding enlightenment. “Take away your false gods and TV idles. I am doomed for this world and the next. My only solace is that I have none, and I will meet my end sooner than later. I am alive and I’m dead, hope is forgotten. Someone take these dreams away, which point me to another day.” He got faster, the cars around him honking, and swearing at his reckless endangerment. They don’t give a damn about him, no, not at all. They care about themselves, where they’re going, and their stress at work. He was just some shmuck racing in and out of traffic for a thrill. What if they stopped to think why he’s doing it? Would some suited up duck with a pen and paper and a long couch help him talk out his problems with abandonment and loss? Or what the shark in a suit put him in his place? What about friends or loved ones? It doesn’t matter at this point. He was too deep in the void to come back, and he didn’t want to. Once again he sank back, gripping the steering wheel, each close call bringing him closer to the end. Now he sighs and closes his eyes and smiles, even if it misses. Beating and thumping, the heart and car were one. He looked one last time at the world that was before him, happy that he could leave it at any time. “Can death dream a dream darker than black?” Then there was nothing, just as god created the earth. Blue, red, black were the colors he sees. He could feel death wrenching his insides with its cold, sharp, steel fingers. Each slight move made his grip tighter, and the thought of the out gave him the warm, safe feeling that a needle in the arm tugging golden brown behind it does. Distant voices echo, pulling him, pulling him to an escape.