The Parasite | Eminem

51

A.N. Man. Almost done y'all- shit man.

I gazed up at the totaled car in front of me.
Having spun out and smashed into the Jersey wall repeatedly before coming to a halt with it's side facing us.
I see the giant dent where I rammed the front of our stolen car.
I had never felt more than I had just ten seconds ago.
Now emotions of sheer panic are elapsing over me.
All I care about now is seeing Marlow get out of her car.
I can barely see her figure in the dark, but she's hunched over her steering wheel.
She isn't moving, or at least I can't see any movement.
Our windshield had shattered to pieces on impact.
I'm covered in glass and I don't want to move.
I notice where pieces have plunged into my skin.
I start to feel that stinging pain when the adrenaline has worn off and you're body is leveling out after the shock.
It's just pain.
Sharp, hot pain.

"Are you ok?" I croak out, partly to Hannah but more so as a little question sent out for Marlow to feel with some form of intuition.

"Mhm, well I'm covered in shattered glass, but that's a given" she whispers, as if talking too loud might awaken the dangerous environment we're in.

"I'm scared to move." I confess, cautiously bringing my thumb and pointer finger of my left hand over to my right forearm, slowly prying a small crystal of glass out from it's embedded position in my skin.
It hurts.
It hurts like a motherfucker.
I don't think anything hurts like this does.
It's one thing getting jumped, but being stabbed with dozens of glass shards?
There's no competition.

"What's some more cuts?" Hannah asks with a dry laugh, pulling herself up from her position strung along the dashboard.
I hear the quiet tinkle of the glass as she moves, little shattered pieces being moved astray or falling down to their graves on the floor.
"It's everywhere. All in my skin... my fucking hair." She giggles, as if what has just happened is fucking funny to her.
She's sees this in a way I do not.
Our experiences have been completely different.
I never wanted this.
But she... she came to be saved.
This was her rebirth.

"It's so funny how close we are to death all the time and we don't even care." She mutters, looking up and following something with her eyes.
I observe her gaze, taking note of Marlow's figure getting out from her car in front of us.
I can't find the strength to pull myself off the steering wheel.
This is what defeat feels like.
I was supposed to feel like I experienced nirvana, and I'll I feel is depressed.
No, correction.
I feel robbed.
Robbed blind.
This was my 'near life experience' and I couldn't even experience something right.
Maybe me and Marlow really are horrible for each other.
There is no human soul.
There is no soul mate.
Me and Marlow operate on different levels.
I'll never see what she sees and she'll never care to bother with what I see.

I notice the torn skin on the side of her forehead as her figure gets closer to us, slowly walking up to our car.
Blood slipped down along her temple and at it's final resting place along her jaw line.
In this moment, she almost looks beautiful in a dangerous and dark way.
Only in her black bra and cargo shorts, covered in blood and glistening with little shards of glass lodged in her skin.
She looks like she's risen from the powers of organized religion and gorgeous works of poetry.

She could talk to us, as she slowly saunters over to my side of the car. Our means of communication are not severed by what was once a fully intact thick piece of glass you call a windshield.

"You'd think the possibility of death at each street corner and in every driver's seat would make us kinder... but we're all still hopelessly bitter and vile to each other." Hannah sighs before unlocking the passenger side door and slipping off her seat. I hear the crunch of glass as she steps out onto the concrete freeway.
I hear my side door open and I refrain from looking at Marlow.
Marlow.
Marlow and her stupid... stupid everything.
Marlow and her life-missions.
Marlow and her collisions.
Marlow and her bloody hands.
Marlow and her notebooks full of cheap persuasions.