DSTL Arts – a nonprofit arts mentorship organization that inspires, teaches, and hires emerging artists from underserved communities.
By Jeremy Arias
He wasn’t sure where the road went, he only had a vague memory of where he began. No matter how long he sat in silence with his foot on the gas pedal listening to the sound of the engine running and wheels scraping the sand on the road, he couldn’t get his head to figure out why he was still driving.
The thought that every life decision he had ever made, or been forced into, lead him straight to the road occupied his head several times. He asked himself why he was on that particular road, but a real answer never came about. He remembered gassing up his tank and throwing a spare jerry can in the trunk for good measures. Despite the feeling of years passing, driving through that forsaken desert, he still had three quarters of the tank he started with.
He thought that maybe he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. Maybe the GPS was just as lost and sent him down that road unknowingly cursing him to a never ending road. These were still actions of his own, however. He couldn’t blame the car or GPS. Maybe he was misguided, but even then, it was his foot on the gas.
His hands stiffened on the steering wheel and began to collect drops of dew from the humidity of the sweat accumulating inside, blood rushing through his fingers. His eyes now frozen on the lane that confined him between two eternities of sand, drifted from the lane to the sky where vultures flew overhead. He took a deep breath as he weighed his options. The only place this car could realistically go was forward. Perhaps he could go back too.
It was no use.
He slammed his foot on the brake causing the tires to screech and halt. Causing a silence over the screaming engine. His thoughts went from a scream to a soothing hum. A soothing hum came from within the engine. It became nothing as he slid the key from the ignition.
Of all the places he could go. He could be driving home. Going to a city by a shining sea or visiting Rome. But no. Here he was, with his forehead slumped on the steering wheel. There were miles of road before him. There were miles of road after him. But the road wasn’t for him. And a fool he was for not realizing it sooner.
His hand worked its way from the wheel to the stump on the door. He plucked the latch that locked him in. He pulled the handle and slowly pushed his way to freedom. He stepped into the sand and looked up to the sun. His feet, like patties on a grill, sizzled as they sank into the sand. His feet carried his body as his mind carried his spirit to the sun.
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