Acatalepsy

Cosmogyral

Chapter One- "Whirling around the universe"

November 4th, 2033 | 04:37:11 A.M |  Forest Lake, MN

The streetlights had become few and few between, the yellowish haze of each one blurring into one another. It was surprising just how many of them were broken, their bulbs burned out and looked to have been neglected for years. The road was more than what ‘cracked’ could describe, the bright headlights of the car showing every rigid edge and crack it could- even the tiny weeds poking out from the asphalt seemed to cast shadows.

The seat belt is tight and jagged against my heavy coat, even through the layers it's cutting into my skin. My head pounds in my skull as it lays against the window, my brain feeling like it's floating in my skull as if it were a bubble drifting around in a drink. My mouth is dry, feeling as though it's been layered in a thick coat of cotton.
   
The temperature outside is nowhere near record lows, but snow sticks itself amongst the side of the empty road, clinging to the dead grass as if its life depended on it. Even with the moon almost fully submerged in the almost transparent clouds, the snow seemed to bask in the moonlight. It was reminiscent of the white glitter tubes you'd find at the dollar store; a mesmerizing disco ball laid out for all to see. It makes me want to get out and make snow angels just like I used to as a kid, but my head throbs so painfully that even the thought of moving makes me want to sob.

The radio is talking about the news, the sound softly floats its way through the speakers, filling the empty car with sound. The condensation on the glass intrigues me, every exhale from my lungs causing a white mist to show up. As I stare at it, the question of just how long I've been staring at my own breath appears in my mind. I dismiss the thought almost immediately. The window against my forehead makes me feel like a popsicle, wrapped in my own cold torment. I'm too out of it to really care, though. I lift my head up off of the glass to turn down the heater that makes my skin feel like it's melting, a complete opposition to how my forehead feels. I see a small flier in the middle console, the neon orange colored all over it catching my attention. ‘Fall Masquerade’ it says, an orange pumpkin with a large smile sitting at the bottom of the paper. I don't bother reading the rest of it.

    “You're an idiot, you know that?” I look over to the driver's seat, the smell of rain drenching me as if I myself was out in a thunderstorm. The man next to me looks over in a quick glance, head then turning back to the empty road. I don't pay him any mind when he starts to talk, I just watch as his fingers move along the steering wheel. In a way he looks like he's angrily playing an invisible piano and the thought makes a ghost of a smile show up on my lips. Oliver has always talked with his hands but until now I've never quite noticed how much.

    I watch as his hands continue to move quickly along the wheel, but I can't bring myself to focus enough on his words to figure out what he's saying. It feels like I'm listening to gibberish as my head continues its relentless assault on itself. This goes on for a while- just watching him tap his fingers along the leather steering wheel. I just can't seem to help myself from zoning out, losing myself in my own thoughts. I watch as he turns his head towards me, the passing yellow street lights making it so I can just barely make out the way his eyebrows furrow down into irritation. “You're not even listening to me, are you?” He asks, annoyance seeping into his tone. For a moment I feel like a child getting scolded by her mother; watching him be so exasperated. My head falls back against the glass, watching the streetlights once more.
   
I swallow, trying to get rid of the layer of cloth covering the top of my mouth. I wonder if this is how it feels to be permanently sick. Getting lost in thought seems to ground me a little, but the guilt that floods over me when I realize I've been ignoring the driver grounds me even more.  “I'm sorry, Oliver,” I whisper. “I'm just-” My eyes blur, but only because I start to zone out again. I do not let myself.  I want to look at him, want to see his gentle eyes and feel like the world has stopped spinning without me, but I know I couldn't; not after what I did today. “I'm sorry.”