The Green Yonder

Beasts of Metal

Driving always helped me clear my head. As a foreman of 2 years I had enough credit that I got a loan on a city car. The cars in the city were different than the maglev ones on the freeways. They had wheels. They were a piece of preserved old world tech.

They had changed some things about how they worked so that they weren’t toxic anymore, but all of the city cars were based on designs that were hundreds of years old. They were some of the most marvelous machines I had ever seen. The way their engines worked, with all the explosions and pistons and turning, whirring parts, was amazing.

They were great metal beasts. In some way, each car had a spirit. And it was this spirit mixed with my spirit that made driving so fun.

I would race around the streets pushing my car to its limits. Taking turns as tight as I could, pushing the engine as hard as I could. People were always astounded at how I could drive. Everyone else just used their cars as a sign of wealth or a symbol of luxury. I actually used mine.

I spent more time and money maintaining my car in the shop than on anything else from the day I got it. Every time I showed up at the shop the mechanics would be in shock.

“You again? Didn’t we just tune you up last week? What are you doing to that car?”

“I’m driving it,” was my simple reply.

I rounded one of the city’s sharpest banks, expertly shifting to avoid a loss in momentum. Every move made me feel better, every time I did something right. Sometimes I’d go so fast that if I missed a single timing, I would die. I never did.

After I had driven for a bit I forgot about Laureen and all the problems we had. I just felt at peace. I was now lightly cruising the streets, heading home. As I rounded a turn, I saw someone blow past me. He was driving an x-89, one of the most expensive and fine running models. I watched as he took the turn ahead of us, to check for his skill. He banked hard and scraped the entire right side of his car.

He had absolutely, no idea, what he was doing. He neither understood the machine, nor cared about it. It was probably some upper-first first-class kid. They had no understanding or respect for anything. They had been born into so much money that they didn’t have to. Even though they had the most money of all of us, they always seemed the least happy.

I had seen a number of them pull stupid stunts like that. Sometimes it seemed like they wanted to die. Like they were waiting for it, begging it, trying to make it happen without directly causing it.

I thought about my car. I loved my car, certainly, but it was still shitty. It was one of the lowest end models available: the A-20. It didn’t matter how much I cared about my car, it would always be lesser. I would always be lesser.

As I pulled into our apartment I thought about the things I had. I thought about how I had a lesser version of everything a person could have. My H.O.L.O. was nice, but not the best. My clothes were sub-par. My haircut was middle of the road. Even our apartment, though nice, was at the bottom of the nice.

I thought about the party where I met Laureen and if I could sneak in now and not be noticed. I looked down at my clothes. There was no way in hell. I was still just a worthless savage who had made a little bit of money. Nothing I did mattered. Nobody cared about whom I was or what I had to say.

If only I could get just a little bit more. If only I could climb just a little bit higher, then I’d be happy. I would finally have all the things I wanted and needed. I would be able to make Laureen happy. I would be happy.