Tense. Adrenalin pumping. Muscles flexing, pulsing with each wave. Thoughts ramming through my head, cascading across reason, slamming into nothing. Driving now. Hands tight on the wheel, music loud, leery, aggressive. Angry at the van cutting me up, angry at the woman on her cellphone. Angry at the cars not going fast enough. Risking. Not caring. Fighting the urge to swerve. To ram. To crash. Rational thoughts surface to be cast aside or beaten down incredulously. The mood will not be swayed. Rage. Fearless anger. Focussing. Concentrating. Only the now. The rush. Nerves on end. Body taut.
Crash. The voice says. Do it now. Feel the noise, the heat, the pain. Enjoy the impact. The slamming of metal on metal.
Reserved and sensible it never comes. A part release is gained. A fist on a door, a foot to a chair. But it’s not enough. Never enough. The crash will happen. It happened before. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. He knows that. It can be gradual. Spiralling, looping, descending, crashing.
Release. Must be found, desperately sought in the aftermath.
But not during. During is when everything is clear, heightened, one. Each thought and movement connected. Each particle moving, vibrating, alive. Senses alert, focussed.
The urge to crash invades. Grows, feeding off the anger, pulling at emotions, ripping at sanity. It feels right, a natural progression from the madness and despair to an end. It can be planned and controlled. It will set the scene, define the future.
Is that what it is? A turning point? An excuse to change direction, to avoid the conflict and pain, to choose a new path. Is that all it takes?
Indecision again, spurring the desire onward, heckling and harrying, flipping the positive. Confusion and desire. The need to crash.