A winter drive with a few unwanted passengers
Headlights pass in the other lane and then I’m alone, aside from the short-lived spirits my breath makes. I can almost hear them whispering as they crawl out of my mouth and into the stale air, telling me good night. Their words are more twisted than their forms, and meant only to remind me: my next word could be my last. My stomach
twists and I choke up a lung full of them, soaking my windshield with their ephemeral blood. They rest there a minute, my only friends on this empty street. My only friends are my demons – I only wish they’d brought the fire. My stomach unfurls and leaves behind a hole, a dull, aching reminder of what I’d lost. I feel my chest deflate, shoulders
sink, and I want to close my eyes. Something soft tickles my mind, a hazy thought that I’m unwilling to entertain. Every step got me where I am and, when you’re walking, every next step seems like the right step, until you look back and can’t even see what it was you had left behind. Yelling at my own immaturity only releases more
snowy prisoners to taunt me, forcing my brain to think and acknowledge realities it won’t believe. More headlights pass and I scream for help, as if they can hear me, as if they would even care. The trees outside beckon me, calling for me, begging me to speed up, to accept their love, their strength, their embrace. My blood-shot eyes see the sun rise.
Mikael Vinke was previously an acting major at NYU and is now working on a degree in game design at UTD. Mikael has spent quite a bit of time moving from city to city, never really able to settle down and feel comfortable.