An American Destroyer in The Bay


There I was in my bed, emotionally prepared for a death that wasn’t going to come. The dream that I’d just had was the plot-line for the next Terminator movie, and I mean really, even Freud wouldn’t have known what to do with it.

I was crouched in the back of a car that was making it’s way across the Golden Gate bridge. An American Destroyer ship sat ominously in the bay. Without warning, it fired a green laser-beam into the depths of the ocean. A moment of silent terror gripped the world. The beam caused the bay waters to begin bubbling violently. What were we fighting? Predators? Aliens? Ariel?!

The water settled back into a shadowy stillness and gave way to a great rumbling from beneath the earth. The entire world shook with a thundering rage. I could feel it through the beams of the bride above. I looked towards the edge of the bridge. Naively, I hoped the car could still beat rush-hour traffic. A girl could only hope.

As the steel beams fell and the concrete gave out from beneath me, I felt the car begin to free-fall. I frantically looked left to right and realized that my parents had become faceless mannequins dressed in GAP clothing. The only thing left to do was to gaze longingly out of my window; this was going to be death by impact. Weirdly enough, the assurance of my demise comforted me in my last moments. I mean, if I died, at least I wouldn’t have to pay back any loans.

There it was. The moment of total clarity. Just a millisecond of pain, so fast it would be imperceptible to my consciousness, and then it would all be over. I had lived a life, maybe not a great or full one, but I had lived. I was simply a human being in a random corner of the universe, turning time and energy into things of human-centric value. Don’t get me wrong, it had been a good run! There were no great pains that had crippled me, other than that one basketball injury, and there had been more than enough love to nourish me. It wouldn’t matter if I died. The world would turn on, as it had before I existed. And frankly my dear, I wouldn’t be around to give a damn.

I embraced death, not as an old friend, but as a lover I had missed most in my quietest moments. I guess we’d always have Paris.

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