freethinking.isdangero.us

Worry, anticipation, fear, love13 May 2008

Click-clack, click-clack. The train clanged noisily up the incline. In the third car from the front, Paul gripped the lap bar nervously.

Belinda, his fiance, giggled on his right.

"Scared?" she asked. Her hair was in a ponytail and she looked sporty in a pink tank top. She was blessed with a carefree beauty.

"Terrified." He glanced over the side and gauged the height. Seventy-five percent of falls from heights greater than fifty feet are fatal, he thought.

"You're cute," she said.

He frowned.

The car rambled on, clicking and clacking happily. The other riders laughed in anticipation. Paul awaited the terrible accident that he knew would take his life. Who built this contraption, he wondered. Were they paid well? Who maintains this thing? Did they check all the safety systems this morning? Is everything working?

"This isn't so bad," he said. Yes it fucking is.

"Told you so," she said. "Look, there's downtown...and there's the airport...and there's the river. You can see everything from up here. There's the subdivision where our house is going to be."

He checked his seatbelt for the fourth time. The train was halfway to the top.

"I don't understand," he said. "How can you think something like this is fun? There is nothing about this that is appealing to me."

She sighed. "Everyone's scared, Paul. That's the whole idea."

"I guess you're right." Paul smiled weakly and turned his head toward the city skyline. "It is a nice view from the precipice."

"Precipice? Nice vocabulary word, Mr. Calculus teacher."

"Well," said Paul. "I've had a pretty good English teacher these last two years."

"True," she said. A mischievous grin appeared on her face. "Do you want me to hold your hand or do you think you'll be able to survive this thing on your own?"

He glared at her. He reached out his sweat-drenched hand and grasped her bone-dry fingers. Her fingers brushed his engagement ring. "Do you know how easily this thing could derail?"

"Oh yes," she said. "I heard that just last week, this very train went flying off the tracks and killed sixteen people. It's okay though; they just duct-taped everything back together and opened it back up today. I think we're the first train to go since the accident, too...which makes this even more exciting!"

"Very funny. I'm just saying, there's a lot of risk involved." Five percent of rollercoaster riders are injured in accidents, he thought. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.

"Yeah," she said. "That's the part I like."

The train was nearing the top of the hill now. Click-clack, click-clack.

"If you say so," he said. "Personally I'm not sure how I let you talk me into this."

"Like that's even a question," she said. She pushed out her ample breasts proudly. "No man can resist these babies!"

He grinned for the first time. "Using your body to trick a helpless man into something like this. Absolutely outrageous. How do you sleep at night?"

"With you," she said. Her wit was perhaps her best feature.

They were cresting the hill now and Paul could see the drop in front of him. Two hundred feet, straight down. I shouldn't have gotten on this rollercoaster. I shouldn't have asked this girl to marry me. The people in the front cars were putting their hands up for the ride. Everyone was smiling. What if we fly off the tracks? PaulŐs heart rose into his throat as he stared down the track laid out before him.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Hold onto me and we'll see what happens."

Did she understand the significance of the question?

He gripped her hand tightly as they plummeted together over the edge, into the unknown.

Wax poetic

My heart is racing down the track13 May 2008

My heart is racing down the track in a bright-red car with fuel injection. It has its foot on the gas and its eyes are peeled wide as it maneuvers past the other cars. The competition doesn't stand a chance, for my heart is racing faster than a hummingbird, a cheetah, a deer, a cat. My heart's ears flap in the wind as it careens around curves and zips down the straightaway. A look of concern appears on my heart's face and it nearly loses control. But even with this concern, my heart races on, because it can and because it must. My heart should not consider consequences. It mashes the accelerator flat against the carpet and flies uncontrollably down the track past spectators and farms to an unknown destination, all the while not considering what will she think, what will her parents think, is this a mistake, do I have a condom. My heart only feels the urge to race and does so because it cannot resist.

My heart is racing down the track in a bright-red car with fuel injection.

Wax poetic

Keys in the toilet8 May 2008

Did I just drop my keys in the toilet again? God, how I hate alcohol. It's not even the weekend. It's Wednesday night. Am I an alcoholic? Is it normal to drink twelve...thirteen...beers? And a couple shots of something or other? On a Wednesday? Is that bad?

The last time I dropped my keys in the toilet, I had to go to rehab. Fuck that, I'm not going back to rehab. I gotta get these fucking keys out of this fucking toilet.

It was the brownies. I should never eat anything Earl gives me again. He's a liar. I know what was in those things. That bastard. Earl. Screw you, Earl.

I can't grab the keys. My hands are covered in various juices recently expelled from my body. My guess? I threw up from the Jager, and my hands are shaking from the cocaine.

I hear a voice. What's that? Who has meth? Frank? Where? I gaze at the keys in the toilet and contemplate my life.

Alright, one second, I'll be right out.

Wax poetic

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