by on May 15, 2012 :: 0 comments

“Shit.” The words escape my mouth as the headlights roar towards me. My seat belt tenses across my chest, and my car lunges into fast turning circles.

The lights outside are blurry against my window, like someone smeared soapy watercolors across them. The air inside my car stands still. I relax against the headrest and feel the figure eights deep inside my stomach. My car must be going sixty, but I let go of the steering wheel and let it pull me. I breathe out, letting myself sink into the vinyl chair. I inhale and the smell of incinerating rubber lingers in my lungs.

The fire curls into the corners of my parted mouth, and laps over my eyelashes. The skin around my lips peels back and folds into ash. The heat feels good compared to the cold windowpane pressed against my face. I smile as the weight of the dashboard collapses my lungs and causes me to gasp for a breath of air.

Dying is peaceful. Forcing myself to do it, though, wasn’t easy.

editors note:

Since we’re all born to do it, I hope dying is this exciting, even if the begins with a casual and unexcited shit. Sometimes we just can’t get to where we want to go with our hands on the wheel. So, go ahead, lose control. – tm

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