getaway car

December 5, 2008
By becca howes, Kingston, ZZ

My mind is twisted and contorted with asphyxiating vines. The sound of eerie child songs and ghostly wind chimes clog my ear canal. Lost in the map of my own head, my breath has been stolen from me and I inhale as if oxygen were a drug. Gargantuan trails of shattered mirrors follow behind me as I thrash upon the walls of reasoning. I seem to be hiding when no one is seeking. The ceiling of fear crashes down upon me. I open my mouth but my scream seems to be on mute. I outstretch my hands in the air, fingers longing to grasp anything remotely alive. I rehearse my famous last words with my most distant hopes and dreams blinking before my glazed eyes. When I am naïve enough to believe the lie that no one can save me at this point, I faintly feel your presence. A dim light in the horizon. Fingertips touch mine; warm eyes drill into my core. You are my getaway car, my safe house. The sun rolls into the sky as acoustic melodies descend from the downy white clouds, tumbling playfully in the sky. Rotting plant life evolves into the incandescent glow of buttercup fields. Can we disappear into the cavity our love? I’d stay there forever and day, if you’d stay there too. Just drape me in your comforting warmth and never let me go.

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