𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧

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𝐌𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭
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Friday, February 17th, 2023

Down the long empty highway, I drive, my grip on the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white. The world blurs past me in a rush of color and with a glance down to the speedometer, I notice the needle is pushing past 100.

In the back seat, the box sits ominously, the bloody hoodie inside seeming to taunt me through the rearview mirror. My eyes flick to it briefly, but I force myself to focus on the road ahead.

As the hours tick by, the road seems to stretch on forever. But I keep driving.

And driving

And driving

And as I hold down the accelerator, the anger that had been consuming me slowly begins to dissipate.

As if the more miles I put between myself and Seattle, the lighter I feel.

After 12 hours of endless driving, exhaustion finally takes hold of me, and I can feel my body starting to shut down. I finally pull off onto the side of the road.

My hands are shaking as I turn off the ignition, and I feel my stomach churn with a sickening sensation. I rush out of the car, stumbling to the side of the road as I try to catch my breath.

And then it happens.

I hunch over and hurl into the ditch. Fumbling back against the car I slide down the side until my ass hits the gravel.

Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth, I take a moment to catch my breath and in front of me, I see a vast field stretching out; the grass rustling in the gentle breeze.

Where the fuck am I?

Leaning against the car, I watch as the sun slowly dips below the horizon. The colors of the sky shift and blend together, creating a stunning display of oranges, pinks, and purples.

It's a sight that many would describe as breathtaking, but for me, it's just another mundane sunset.

I can't understand why people get so worked up over this daily occurrence. It's not like it's anything special or rare.

The sun rises and sets every single day.

My phone rings from the passenger seat. It's the first external noise that has pierced through the internal monologue in my head. I stand up off the pavement and take one more long look into the field, before turning to the car and reaching for my phone.

As I answer, I try to push aside the emptiness that has been weighing on me, but my voice still comes out hollow and detached.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," a familiar voice replies on the other end. But I can't place it. I pull the phone back, seeing the name 'Danny Wanny' written across the screen.

It's Daniel Williams, my publisher, but that title doesn't mean shit. I hang up and drop it back on the leather seat before slamming the door shut and walking to the other side.