Short Story 1

It doesn't have a title yet, but maybe I'll think of one eventually. I can't remember the last time I wrote something that wasn't obligatory or non-fiction.


Onwards. Upwards.

"This could be the end...."

I glared at my iPod and ripped the aux cable out. Figures. The shuffle loves insulting me. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think? It's not like I'm driving off into the sunset, never to be heard from again.

Am I?

Three days ago everything was fine. It had all changed so suddenly, but please, don't try to empathize. Now is the time to be looking forwards. Onwards and upwards, they always say. Who are they? The rich, mostly. They are the ones who have hardships when they can only afford to go to Mexico this year instead of Italy. We all go through tough times, but together we move on and the rich keep moving up.


'But are they really moving up?' some critics might interject. You better fucking believe they are. It's glamorous watching rich people tell poor people about the burden of wealth. No, their money doesn't make them happy. Why would you want any of it?

Shit. The road's still here. It's too easy to let the present fade away when you drive. After a couple of hours, it all starts to melt away. Every road looks the same. And with the cruise control, it's all too easy to stop watching and start looking. To me, it's almost Zen. I let my mind wander, and the outside world fades away. Of course, when I try to meditate, I can't keep myself from focusing on the insides of my eyelids, much less not pay attention to the bug crawling up the tree fifty yards away.

To Palahniuk, driving the open road puts you in the same state as sleep. He's off there though. You can stare into space and still drive, but your mind is still going. Things aren't dreamlike. Reality it still there, it just sort of fades away into the background. But, it's not even in the background. We all go around curves fine while driving, even if we're not paying the least bit of attention. Finally, there's a sign.

Damn. I still have 200 miles left for the day. Rather, the morning. See, I'm not riding into the sunset. I mean, the sun's starting it's glorious ascent right now. Well, it's hardly a glorious ascent. Once you've seen one sunrise, you've seen them all. It's always the same. It's just like the glorious ascent of Joe Everyman pulling himself up by the bootstraps to become rich. It's not actually glorious at all. If you look too closely, you might just want to be blind.

Why did I love staying up to watch the sunset so much? It wasn't for the good company. I was always alone. Nearly always. Yeah, there were other people, but they didn't get it. No one ever really got it. Didn't get what? I can't even remember these days. I guess that's the problem with the world these days. No one gets it.

"I wish I had someone to talk to."

Long distance driving alone is terrible. Sometimes it makes you want to just slam the steering wheel left and see how many times you roll. That's normal. Everyone thinks about death.

Don't they? Haven't I always? I think I have. It's not like I want to die. More, it's wanting to find out if I would survive. There's a metaphor for life for you. What percentage of people who roll their cars over live? What percentage of people here are happy with what they've done with their lives?

An exit, finally. And it has a Waffle House to boot. It's no IHOP, but I think I could stomach a carafe of coffee. Maybe even some toast. Or eggs. Maybe I'll be radical this morning.

"Mornin' doll." The waffle-keeper's gretting me. Stupendous. "Just you?"

"Yes ma'am." That sounds like such a canned reply, I know. Yet, everyone still expects it. You get used to it, I guess. You get used to a lot of things. Does that really make it more acceptable?

I'm the only one here. Lovely. I'll get to  have a thrilling chat with my waitress/cook/hostess/new best friend/crack addict. Well, do you think it's crack? Either that or meth. Bound to be meth. Them folks love 'em some ice.

"What brings you here so early?" Her names Bella. Well, her name tag says Bella.

"Just passing through." Like she hasn't heard that every single day for the past five years she's been working here. God knows no one would want to make Exit 173 their final destination. I'm sure there are worse places, but really. Oh well. If Bella wants entertainment, she has the jukebox. I'm sure she can get it to play free songs. Oh, she already brought me coffee.

"Thanks..." She's already gone. She's off in the corner, humming away. Huh. Did she hear my thoughts? Did I say that out loud? There's no way.

I wish she would talk to me. I just spent six hours without talking to anyone. But, I didn't even want to talk to her five seconds ago. Funny how that goes.