Highway blues

There was no tender world, just the space around him. He looked up and felt the ground beneath his soles. Where all the dusty earth should go, he didn't know. Nothing seemed to have neither direction nor purpose. It was like the undefined beginning of a song that had still many ways to go.


For a minute he thought of Thomas and his alien self. Of the lines that made up his figure as opposed to the breeze that beat onto him and the solitary road across that nothingness. He though of himself as a lonesome traveller, though no movement had been yet produced.


He was just grasping the meaning of his skin, that which separated his from else around him; the tiny miracle that held all his minuscule pieces together, when he saw the headlights, like the extended eyes of an owl.


No one stopped.


Suddendly he noticed a hole spreading swiftly from out of nowhere; its massive inconsistence about to swallow him. The calmness that had preceded the incident turned into anxiety. Though he tried to seal it, he couldn't quite wrap his arms around it, and its borders left him clinging to the void.


Realization came just as the lights disappeared into the horizon, with a pitch black feeling on his tongue: Not until the motor had passed him by could he have defined himself as alone.


An aching pain begun.