I like it this way.
I'm lying in bed. The sheets are up to my neck, just covering my shoulders as I listen to the same album I've been listening to for a year straight. The album takes me somewhere I can't go by my own power. My legs are motionless in the pitch black. My eyes dart around the blackness as my mind wonders if this is actually what it's like to be blind. I tell myself I'm not tired as one song drifts into the next. Songs become shorter, their tails vanishing into the fog of unconsciousness, their beginnings lost in some crevice void of my reality. I wonder if I could move a single muscle in my body if I tried.
I'm sitting in my car. I'm driving. My arm pumps back and forth, my head bobs rhythmically with every shift, my eyes keep even on the plane of the road ahead of me. The headlights cut through darkness and reveal the night slowly, in small chunks so my brain can digest its surroundings more effectively. I like it this way, driving at night. My blinks grow longer as I listen to the same album I've been listening to for a year straight. The album takes me somewhere this car cannot drive me. In poor company I find myself more alone than I ever am by myself. I twist around a corner, my tires cutting through snow and gravel as I begin to compute a new chapter of surroundings.
I'm walking. My chin is tucked into my scarf, the hood of my sweater is pulled over my head, the hood of my jacket is pulled over my head. My head is covered by an acrylic and polyester blend toque that itches me if I wear it for a long enough time. My head itches. The zipper on my jacket is done up to my scarf. I'm wearing pajamas underneath my black pants. The pajamas are tucked into my socks, those of which I'm wearing two pairs. My red denim shoes are as thin as a pillow case and have holes in the bottoms. My feet are numb. My hands ache with cold as I listen to the same album I've been listening to for a year straight. The album takes me somewhere I cant walk. I like walking at night, but I can't get lost anymore. I guess that's how it becomes with anything that can be gotten used to. I watch as fog pours from my parted lips. Home is behind me when I pull my mittens off my hands to breathe heat into them for the tenth time.
Stop signs seem desperate in the middle of the night. At 2:37 AM I don't see the point in doing more than slowing down for them. My neighbourhood is a few blocks away but I don't want to go home yet. My favourite song on the album just came on and I need to finish it. Blinking feels so good right now. Opening my eyes seems so unimportant in the warmth of fatigue. Tiredness feels like a warm, welcoming blanket at 2:41 AM. I like to savour this feeling whenever I can. Halfway through a verse I realize my eyes have been closed for quite some time. When I open them I'm twenty feet from a cross walk. My eyes scan and register a figure directly in front of me. I hit the brakes, sending me and the vehicle into a crooked slide headed straight for the pedestrian.
With my feet, hands, and nose numb from cold, the only warmth I feel comes from the song I'm listening to. In the gentle embrace of drowsiness I close my eyes. My feet continue to drive me forward. They know the way as well as I do. I step off the sidewalk onto the icy street and feel a brightness shining into one side of my peripheral vision. I look to my left just in time to see a vehicle about three seconds from slamming into me.
I twist the wheel and pump the brakes in desperation. I can see my headlights reflecting off the pedestrian's glasses at this distance. I begin to panic when the man tries to take a leap to avoid me but slips on the icy asphalt. He's lying on the road.
My elbows and tailbone crash into the frozen road. I bite my tongue. With the taste of blood in my mouth, the grill plows into my head.
My sweaty hands can do nothing to stop my car. I close my eyes before the man disappears under the grill.
I jump up with a quick gasp and a fistful of sheets in both hands. I hold my breath for a few seconds and look around blindly at the darkness around me. I peer over the side of my bed to see the stream of light coming underneath my door from the nightlight in the hallway. My eyes dart to the glowing alarm clock on the drawer next to my headboards. I pull both silent headphones from my ears and look at my iPod. I turn it on to find that my favourite album has finished. I collapse into my pillow. I like it this way.
-Daniel Greene
I'm sitting in my car. I'm driving. My arm pumps back and forth, my head bobs rhythmically with every shift, my eyes keep even on the plane of the road ahead of me. The headlights cut through darkness and reveal the night slowly, in small chunks so my brain can digest its surroundings more effectively. I like it this way, driving at night. My blinks grow longer as I listen to the same album I've been listening to for a year straight. The album takes me somewhere this car cannot drive me. In poor company I find myself more alone than I ever am by myself. I twist around a corner, my tires cutting through snow and gravel as I begin to compute a new chapter of surroundings.
I'm walking. My chin is tucked into my scarf, the hood of my sweater is pulled over my head, the hood of my jacket is pulled over my head. My head is covered by an acrylic and polyester blend toque that itches me if I wear it for a long enough time. My head itches. The zipper on my jacket is done up to my scarf. I'm wearing pajamas underneath my black pants. The pajamas are tucked into my socks, those of which I'm wearing two pairs. My red denim shoes are as thin as a pillow case and have holes in the bottoms. My feet are numb. My hands ache with cold as I listen to the same album I've been listening to for a year straight. The album takes me somewhere I cant walk. I like walking at night, but I can't get lost anymore. I guess that's how it becomes with anything that can be gotten used to. I watch as fog pours from my parted lips. Home is behind me when I pull my mittens off my hands to breathe heat into them for the tenth time.
Stop signs seem desperate in the middle of the night. At 2:37 AM I don't see the point in doing more than slowing down for them. My neighbourhood is a few blocks away but I don't want to go home yet. My favourite song on the album just came on and I need to finish it. Blinking feels so good right now. Opening my eyes seems so unimportant in the warmth of fatigue. Tiredness feels like a warm, welcoming blanket at 2:41 AM. I like to savour this feeling whenever I can. Halfway through a verse I realize my eyes have been closed for quite some time. When I open them I'm twenty feet from a cross walk. My eyes scan and register a figure directly in front of me. I hit the brakes, sending me and the vehicle into a crooked slide headed straight for the pedestrian.
With my feet, hands, and nose numb from cold, the only warmth I feel comes from the song I'm listening to. In the gentle embrace of drowsiness I close my eyes. My feet continue to drive me forward. They know the way as well as I do. I step off the sidewalk onto the icy street and feel a brightness shining into one side of my peripheral vision. I look to my left just in time to see a vehicle about three seconds from slamming into me.
I twist the wheel and pump the brakes in desperation. I can see my headlights reflecting off the pedestrian's glasses at this distance. I begin to panic when the man tries to take a leap to avoid me but slips on the icy asphalt. He's lying on the road.
My elbows and tailbone crash into the frozen road. I bite my tongue. With the taste of blood in my mouth, the grill plows into my head.
My sweaty hands can do nothing to stop my car. I close my eyes before the man disappears under the grill.
I jump up with a quick gasp and a fistful of sheets in both hands. I hold my breath for a few seconds and look around blindly at the darkness around me. I peer over the side of my bed to see the stream of light coming underneath my door from the nightlight in the hallway. My eyes dart to the glowing alarm clock on the drawer next to my headboards. I pull both silent headphones from my ears and look at my iPod. I turn it on to find that my favourite album has finished. I collapse into my pillow. I like it this way.
-Daniel Greene
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