The Blue

1. Go

Go.

Press my foot to the gas. Worn tires hiss over loose rocks; my stomach tightens at the weightless displeasure of drifting. I turn right and roll on to the highway. Rush hour traffic. My wedding ring rattles across the dash, coming to a rest against the windshield. The vehicle balances then whines desperately as it struggles to gain speed. Faster cars scream past.

The drive home from work. Money earned, job kept. I untuck my uniform, peeling the cloth away from my sweaty skin, and the belt buckle digs into my gut. Need to stop eating bar food for lunch. Need to go on a diet.

Need to do a lot of things.

The heat is suffocating—over a hundred every day for a week. My sense of smell surrenders to the steaming of my sinuses, and the air conditioner’s chill sigh offers little relief.

I drift on the exit ramp and am lifted up over the highway; for a moment, downtown Lake Charles and its only modern building—a glittering bank office—come into view. The setting sun angles off it and into my eyes.

Another lazy curve. Then, the steering wheel jerks in my hands.

Heart in throat. The tire below me explodes; rubber slaps against the floorboard, kicking my feet. I clench the wheel, ease on the brake, but the car floats over the road into the wrong lane. Captain to captive.

A mini-van enters the curve, coming straight at me. I swerve hard but nothing happens, I just stare at the horrified face of its driver and the kid sitting next to him.

We connect. I hit the side of the van.

Weightless terror. I float fifty miles an hour in a car traveling fifty point one, inching toward the inevitable. Collision comes with grinding shrieks and the cacophonic roar of metal rending, glass shattering, tires squealing. Gravity gives way to the catastrophe; some change from the ashtray hovers above the dash, twisting in the sunlight. I watch a quarter rotate from head to tails, and all the combined trajectories solve in one furious equation that sends my head slamming forward against the wheel.

Then, there's nothing.

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Copyright Scott Kelly 2013, all rights reserved.

Cover by Greg Poszywak.

Check out more of Greg's work at: http://thegregorythomas.deviantart.com/