Written to "A Conversation With God" by Darren Hayes. It is recommended that you listen to the song while reading, to get a slightly better background understanding.
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We're driving, just the two of us. Rain drops, heavy and fat strike the windows, thudding so closely together it's a continuous roar. The windows are shaded over with water vapor from our breath. Outside, the sky is clouded over as the sun sets, changing from middling blue to charcoal.
There's a bridge on the way, a rickety old thing, built of copper and rusted steel.
He's drunk in the seat next to me, pawing at the wheel through his stupor. The front tires move out onto the bridge.
He leans in closer, trying to connect our lips.
I snap at him, let go of the wheel to push him away.
I'm driving. I talk to him. He's screaming. I only nod. We have to get back, back to you…
Leaves, wet and brown plaster against the road, against the car. The trees are waving, hauled back and forth by nature's temper.
Raindrops fall, shattering on glass like gunfire. He looks like it hurts again, twisting against the seatbelt.
I let go of the wheel to still him.
I'm falling. I'm not myself. I'm diving. Water, chill and unforgiving cushions. I look up, bubbles streaming out my nose. IT's already dark, but getting darker. The propellers of a huge ships pin, whipping water into foam.
The bubbles gleam with light from above, reflecting down from ship lights. Underwater, the light refracts and illuminates broken pieces of metal.
I can hear his voice, laced with sarcasm. I see your hands.
My thoughts run off the beaten track. There's no lighthouse way back. Take the hand of god and bite the feeder, no more lingering.
My hands fly off the steering wheel – can't recall getting here. If I could I would reach behind and turn my light on….