THE CAR (DEAD MAN'S CLIFF)
Burning off the obsessive smell of gasoline, I am the car that travels through life, and gets damaged by weather and oncoming traffic. I am the driver-operated machine that stops for turning cars, pulls over for emergency vehicles, and waits for the turning, arrow light. My body is made of bendable metal. It gets dinged by hailstorms and all of the damaging things that hit me. For some of you, I may have been driving too fast, and now you are the insects being smeared by my windshield wipers. I get abused by my drivers. They sometimes take their day’s anger out on me- which leads to burnt cigarette holes in my seats. Sometimes, I feel like a mistake- by the many times that you have spilt your drinks on me. Sir, these stains are still cloth-deep. There’s a bottle of fabric cleaner in the backseat. Why don’t you just clean me up, WHY?
Isn’t my transportation services worth the satisfying sprinkles of a good carwash? Don’t I sometimes deserve to be sparkly clean for the sporty cars cruising down West Boulevard?
My steel, heart chamber wants to explode- because you’re neglecting on changing my monthly oil. Sometimes, I want to strangle you and your screaming children with my nylon seat belts. I’m just getting tired of the same travel, the same grade of gasoline, and the same abuse. Now, I’m straining up this hill. I’m contemplating on taking control of the wheel. I want to be released. I want our roles to shift. I want to drive off of Dead Man’s cliff. And after that catastrophe, I just want to see- what cheap, mechanical parts are left moving of me.
The unforgiving weather leaves me chipping and rusting. My owner says my milage makes me that less trusting. My trunk is filled with dark secrets (layered with dead bodies.) God man, your just a fraud man that likes to fool EVERYBODY! You’ve hidden the evidence of your adultery in my backseat. A lesser iteration of a weakling. A viper pumped with deceit. My wipers are spraying the windshield, representing me crying. You have so many faces, why don’t you just stop trying? Pity is such a precious price to pay for his petty life. Pity is such a precious price to pay for his petty life. He is losing while we’re cruising in the heart of the decay of night. I’m revving up my engine, anticipating the change of the green light.
I want you to know that I am...The Soul In Control. I have a hold of the pedal, and I’m ready to go. This ghost breathing inside the steel ribs of your car. You hold the keys to this curse, no matter where you are. I pressed the pedal to the floor. I heard my demon engine roar. I felt the momentum in'store...and as I made a quick, reckless shift, we sped off the tip of Dead Man’s Cliff! DEAD MAN’S CLIFF! DEAD MAN’S CLIFF! We’re soaring through these polluted skies like a derailed train, about to die. And when we crash, I hope that nothing remains, but a shattered windshield and a red bloodstain.
Now were swerving like a drunk driver speeding down life’s congested interstate. A colossal, semi truck speeds up and sideswipes us, over in my lane. The juggernaut truck crashes and smashes into my driver-side door. I ejected the air bags to barricade a cage around my owner.
As traffic hit me, my body began burning. It was the cage to keep him alive. Into the foggy distance, my headlights glared into a behemoth creature’s eyes. It had eighteen horns that pointed up like spears into the dead of night. My speedometer reached its limit, and at this point, I didn’t care. That deer slammed into my windshield, and stabbed its antlers into my master. We rolled over the guardrails and sank into the ripples of the midnight sea. Underwater, my owner gave me a confession, that even you would not believe.
