[ . . . ]
I’m on this Ride because I got the ticket against my will. Not even sure I was ready for life, let alone storming off somewhere I know nothing of without a proper travel pamphlet. The Ride you can come & go on but can never leave.
zoom zoom zoom
Off towards where exactly?!
Where in holy hell am I headed? What fun is travel if you aren’t aware of the destination? What’s the point of shooting off like a fiend out of hell from point A to M and back to C?
The ticket in my hand. Arrival stamp is my place & time of birth, the only ink on the paper.
“Oh, very helpful,” I can’t help but think aloud. The only thing you can do in the specter factory.
Or is this the way there? Have I been in the factory all along or was that many stops ago?
The Ride shifts gears and accelerates causing me to bump into the faceless figure in front of me. It grunts and straightens itself out. Passengers come and go and I wonder if they know where they are going either & have doubts that they do. Those full of life don’t glide about as a colorless blob, avoiding eye contact, no expression if they do.
“A ride to Hell this must be,” I wonder. A queer rocket ship flying through the moon’s orbit, a spirit trapped amongst the the human world unable to make contact without petrifying others into throes of The Fear.
If such a Ride is inevitable, as it appears to be, then there should be no reason I shouldn’t get off at the next stop. You’d think the unknown would be better than the chaotic dull of machine-like drudgery. Though, it hasn’t fared me well in the past to wander about.
One stop I got off at led me into a dark forest with a heavy ambiance as if a predatory beast lurked about in the shadows, a trail of pebbles lead me back to the Main Station.
Another stop was an isolated planet that rained sharp diamond particles, each boom of thunder a volcano of blue lightening, all in zero gravity. I didn’t stay there long.
The last stop I got off at was a space very similar to the familiar reality I had grown to know… only the atmosphere was prone to spontaneous combustion. One moment you’re having small talk with a patron at the bar and next you’re watching their face melt and skin fry in a purple haze of crimson fire. The sight & the screams are enough to change your brain wiring forever. I haven’t been in a rush to get off since.
Though I do know, that merely staying put, latching on to the rail for dear life, would only facilitate my own demise.
I shudder at the thought. The sins of my life weigh down on my breast, causing contusions and uneven breath. Tremors begin & clammy skin. The dirty dozens tapdancing on my frontal lobe, a hell hound’s fur left behind itching the inside of my skull. What pain reliever or fever reducer can cure that?
The doctor’s candy?
One little pill to ease the Downright Wretchedness, one to up the Established Corrective Order, & another in an attempt to rid the Abject EdHorror. Should be doing wonders but it’s a wonder if they’re really doing anything at all. A question that is hard to determine given the radical outside forces at play.
The Ride decelerates, the brakes clicking clacking on the track, the astral projections outside the sliding door window drawing closer to a stop.
Will I get off this time
or keep wondering where I’ll end up?