Ask someone you love what their worst fear is and I'll bet you all the money I stuffed in my back pocket only an hour ago- double that for the elderly folks- that it has something to do with our little buddy Death. Dying, the fact all that was summoned into the world must leave again, dying in solitude, dying in the most searing pain any mortal could ever imagine, letting a loved one go without saying goodbye...the list goes on.
Me? Nah. Do you honestly think I'd have been driving for the last ten minutes thirty miles over the speed limit on the wrong side of the busiest motorway in the country if I was? No, I'm not afraid of dying. Nor do I fear peridition, hence why I have five police cars on my tail, sirens blaring and guns blazing- metaphorically, of course, as they're civilians with family and morals, terrified of doing wrong all those pointless laws that someone set with the goodwill of God. God: a name spoken with such smite.
My eyes dart from one end of my windscreen to the other, the lights flashing luminously in it's reflection, causing a stinging pain in my eyes, which are also contained in the glass. I look into those eyes, ears ringing, that used to have so much happiness, joy; I'd stare at them, the colour of delectable milk chocolate, for what seemed like hours as I'd brush my teeth, a little boy stood there in his blue striped pajamas, his bare little feet numb on the freezing tiles.
I'd spit a little blood, but that was okay. Mum worried, but I told her it was natural. Phil worried, he was fed similar lies. Only me and him know what really occurred, just as he is the only one that will ever know why my mother had to die, why Phil had to die and why I have to join them. He even promised we'd be buried on the same plot, the bastard.
He's adjacent to me, wearing his usual facetious smirk and staring out the passenger window as if we're crossing through beautiful country side, an excited little child wanting to take in all the beauty of the world, just as another unctuous car crashes into a barrier behind us, catching fire instantaneously. Does that not just prove there is no beauty here? All there is is screaming people, screaming brake discs, screaming car horns and my blood as it slowly drips down the car interior just as it dripped down the bathroom sink, down my face, down his. He turns to me, but all I can see is his blurry figure as blood seeps from my suddenly sodden eyeballs. "It's time to go, Dan."
"I'll see you in hell, pouffiasse."
The road becomes red, as do my hands gripping the leather steering wheel in front of me and my memories start to take flight from my head, vestige flying out the window behind us. I know what I have to do. So does he. So does Phil, as he appears in the back seat, his once electric blue eyes now streaming red rivers. "I love you," he mouths as we catch bleeding eyes in the rear view mirror.
"I love you too," I say, possibly aloud. We're coming to a bridge. It's raining. So cliché, I think scornfully, why must I die as a main character in some petty film? But he's egging me on, pushing me over the edge, internally laughing as he sits there blank-faced, just as he was the first time I laid terrified eyes on him, perched on the end of my Bob the Builder bedspread, toothpaste still around my soft little lips.
"Now!" he yells, making me- and my hands- jump. The next thing, we're soaring over the many lithe metal arms of the bridge, once holding us in safety and now taking a cautious step back as we slam into the waters below. Also red.