Road

I'm shaking, my mouth opened slightly. I would guess that another breath touching my lips would cause them to bleed. It would be too awkward to reach for my lip balm now. I can taste the salt from my tears. I wish I could drown in them. What just happened? Then it hit me. The words I never thought I would say. They were sputtered out of my chapped, peeling lips just under a minute ago. There was no response. Not yet, anyway. I glance back at the creature beside me in the passenger seat. "I never loved you either." He chokes out. The life had drained from his eyes. I should apologize. I don't apologize. The blackened forest hid behind the brand new tears forming on my eyes. The night was blurry, muffled, and muddy. I wonder how long it would be until we arrive at Palm Springs for our wedding anniversary. November 2nd. It has always been my favourite day. I stomp on the accelerator. I want this to be over. Jimmy was never the type to hold grudges. My eyes glare over to the steering wheel. My grip tightens on the leather wheel of our Impala. The simple strip of gold around my left ring finger shines in the moonlight. I sigh, hiding the sound of my sobs. I wait for an answer from Jim. I need something from him. Please, just say something. My grip loosens. Silence. Only the rain interrupts our silent conversation of sorrow. Then, the "something" happens, but it's not what I expect. I hear screams. Jim is yelling. He grabs something. It's my arm. His other arm is pointing out ahead of us. I look up. There she is. A little figure in the distance. A pale creature illuminated by headlights is just standing there. Time slows down. Her dark, curly hair is tied in pigtails. She is a young one, and I'm going to run over her lively body to make it lifeless. I swerve into somewhere. There is only black. I feel a sharp pain in my head, and then it disappeared, as if it was never there.

. . .

My eyes flash open, burning red with panic flowing through my veins. I grip onto the muddy ground, feeling around to become familiar with my surroundings, avoiding ripping out the tangled mess of dirt-brown hair from my head. Everything has been quiet since I woke up. The silence is nice, considering what just happened. The darkness still swallows me whole, just like it did while we were driving. Thank God it doesn't seem too long after the crash. A few scrapes and bruises cover my pale body. Thankfully that is all. Our Impala had vanished. Possibly Jim got it back on the road while I was asleep, since he was nowhere to be seen, either. I attempt to call out for him into the night. Once more. There is only silence. Wobbling up to my feet, I glance around to see where I am. This part of the forest seems unrecognizable to me, except for a single tree I pointed out to Jim while we had been driving. The names of what seemed to be two young teenagers in love had been engraved into the bark. My stomach churns at the thought of Jim. I hold my breath. A chill goes down my spine.

I run. I run, yell, and scream for who-knows-how-long. I must find Jim. I must save him from whatever he may have gotten himself into. If I cannot, I must bury him. I must. That is all I have to live for. It seems that nothing else will matter until my other half has his freedom and safety. Just at the thought of danger coming Jim's way causes a river of salt water to flow out of my swollen, "sapphire" eyes, as Jim would call them. I never believed him. They were like ice. Boring, cold, and lifeless. If only he could see me now, then I would be able to prove him wrong. Even though I could not see my reflection, I could feel that the life had been drained out. Perhaps Death himself took a straw and sucked out the "sapphire" from them.

. . .

After what seems like centuries, it's still as dark as it had been when I woke, possibly even darker. The night was as dark as death. My thoughts overcome my tiny, shrivelled up mind. My one and only family, the one piece that held me together, was dead. I rip out a chunk of hair, taking some skin and overwhelming thoughts with it. Perhaps he never cared about me. Perhaps he left me to die when he figured out he had the chance. I am able to imagine a confident and cheerful face, driving away in a beaten up and dirty 1967 Chevy Impala, but it is not Jim's face. It's impossible for me to imagine that, even if I could see it with my own eyes. Another chunk of hair has disappeared from my head. I guess that's one way to keep the nasty thoughts away. More voices come in and out. Some seem to be familiar, some not. My vision becomes white.