It was over . . .
Done. I was done. There was nothing left to do. The hum of the car’s air conditioner was the only sound I could hear. Everything else was muted, distant; the billowing of the passing cars, the roar of my engine, all far away. The air conditioner hummed, fighting to cool my skin against the burning heat of the sun. I was leaving. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel bad: It just didn’t feel at all. There was nothing but a dull droning in my ear.
I will always be alone, forever watching an alien world disappearing in my rearview mirror, and I will never feel a thing. All I have is the humming air conditioner fighting the sun.
The devil ain’t my friend, but he seems to find me wherever I go. So, I’ll keep moving until I find somewhere he ain’t. I’ll always be moving, and I’ll always return to the car, to the droning fan, to the sun above. There is no place for me.
. . . but my eye still returns to that mirror.
Tale Told 