"Small" writing challenges for my small writing talent. Hotel note pads are the only space allowed. Let's see if I can strip it down and tighten it up to learn something. Improving my skill of weird fiction.
Moving this swiftly, jumping out would kill me. My vehicle purrs now but grows angry. Already I’ve lost control of this black primer animal. It runs faster and faster; pipes pushing out licks of purple flame and black smoke. I sit under a chopped top looking out narrow views with fearful eyes. I could lay on the brakes to stop, but they would overheat and fail at this speed. I could run onto the shoulder and into the Nevada desert and spin circles to a stop, but I’d easily roll over a few dozen times. Or, I could just let it run and the engine would wreck itself, spinning up fast and breaking a connecting rod, or the crankshaft or sending metal chunks out the wall of the engine block. I built this truck, this engine, to run on and on. I knew one day my creation would decide in its own heart when it would do so. Tonight, that engine decided It would never again turn off the Interstate. I’d been waiting for this decision, and now it’s here I feel my fear grow, itself a welcomed long awaited desire, washing over me with baptisms of pleasure. My animal will never break, not with the gearing I put in it. Shrieks and howls. Compressions, injections, combustions all a pure diesel runaway chorus echoing in a desert cathedral. A big black furball of speed hurtling into the night towards an accepted unknown end. Tonight I am finally whole.
(A writing exercise done in the middle of packing up the house. I definitely need an escape after the move is done. It signals the end of more than a lot of stress this year. I suppose the character in this little story is looking for a bit more. I like the crazies.)