I should not play Jesus of Suburbia whilst driving at full volume.

9 minutes of air guitaring and air drumming and not holding onto the steering wheel.

Coincidentally my abilities in driving with my knees are impeccable.

That one call….

That one phone call, that one dreaded message,

Rain falling, thunder rumbling.
The television flashing images of worry, frustration, regret, hate, shock.

Why did she hang up, why was she crying? This isn’t like her, i look to the photos on the mantelpiece by the door. I’ve never seen her this upset, she’s scaring me, i don’t know what to say, i shouldn’t have let her go.

I get up, tears forming, filled with worry and regret, i’m going to fix this, make it all better. I grab the keys from the bench reach for my coat and leave the house.

Fumbling with the lock i manage to open the driver side door, i sit down dropping my keys by my feet, i curse to myself, my car has no lights inside any-more, having recently blown. Cursing more i desperately look for the keys hair falling over my face. A bright flash of lightning, lighting up the innermost darkness of the car, my keys just beside my hand, sitting innocently as if they were looking at me, ‘I was here all the time’.

Growling i grab the keys, starting the car, it groans in shock of being started at such a late point of the night ‘I’m trying to sleep here, come back later’. I punch the steering wheel in frustration. It starts,

Smiling but grimacing at the same time, my hand now aching I’ll regret that in the morning. I drive down the road, now regretting the punch even more, aching a dull throb, throb, throb, like the heartbeat of two lovers, strong and constant.

The rain now pelting with retribution, reducing the visibility to a little less than 5 meters, i maintained my speed, i needed to see her, flash of lightning, her face appears before me, that sad haunted face i imagine her to be revealing, all alone. I hate not being by her side, hate not making everything better, hate not..

I swerve, to avoid the out of control car coming towards me, not thinking… time slowed, mouth agape, this was it, what do i do?

Swerving still, struggling to maintain any control that remained with the car, it screeching in protest.

This was it, i saw a lamp post. Too late.

Shocked i slammed on the brakes.

Slowing, slowing, slowing, the lamp coming closer and closer, still too quickly.

Darkness.

Eyes flickering, my car. Stopped, in front of the lamp post, with little more than an inch to spare.

Shock.

-Roaring Fox