Rainburst | rage, rage against the light
Tires against gravel. Wailing. Screeching.
That. Just the way the raindrops slash against the glass. Iridescent fragments of liquid streaming past my eyes like tongues of flame. This highway guides, but barely. Searchlights cannot penetrate this fog. The city lights dim. My headlight roars into the dark and swirling haze in front. The whirr of engines thrusting out plumes of pure white steam into the murky tailwind. Now grey, now far behind in the vast obscurity of the road since traversed. This speed. This speed! Heart to heart, flesh pressed low against the cold iron throttle. Blood pulsing into the smoulder of gasoline. Acrid. There is no more heartbeat. All becomes a whirr. I bury his face into the darkness of the asphalt. I watch his features blur. The iron in my mouth is most welcome. The sheets of rain part and shriek as I tear a column through its misty obstructions. His two hands reaching upward in mercy. Mercy. Innumerable misty hands reaching outward at this light. My light. There is no salvation now. There is a howl of the sirens somewhere far behind, somewhere far in the past of this vast obscurity. The path slants. Nails dig into rubber. Knives into flesh. The dial jumps and trembles. Blood spurting from opened gashes. I am no prey. There is no regret. My eyes lower. The mist glows sacred blue. Florescence behind curtains of florescence. Tires against gravel. Wailing. Screeching. Wind resistance lightens. The ground melts into open air. Blue and red. Mingled little lights casting dilute hues from behind me. But I watch the world expand before me. Below me.
And in that momentary suspension. Spangled in a million particles of rain — I am released.
