author's note: this is my first ever fic. I don't think its all that good, but I had to set it free before I lost my nerve. Inspired by a kinkmeme captcha

Maine gloomier

It had seemed a lifetime ago, standing frozen as the proverbial deer in the headlights, when the epiphany hit. As if an errant bolt of lightning from some far off storm entered your brain causing a cascading effect of synapses flickering to life and waking a long neglected area of your brain. This intangible center suddenly splayed open revealing a tiny universe shimmering with something like indigo, its ability and function bursting forward giving, if only on some sub-conscience level, the capacity for you to understand the voice and language and poetry of your personal totem. Like a revelation, you remember suddenly in what amounts to an agnostic's spiritual experience, how to feel.

The moment begins to evaporate into a fine mist, and feet and legs move in long strides as if they had a will of their own. You find yourself in a frenzied rush to the car you borrowed from a friend (who also happens to be your hero) tearing through the back hoping against hope you remembered to bring your notebook, forgetting to acknowledge its discovery until well after you've hastily jotted down all those dizzying thoughts and feelings and impressions before they short-circuit your already over electrified brain.

Now, an hour later, on the lonely highway, the mad and frantic back and forth rhythm of the metronome intended to clear vision in the dark and all encompassing rainfall snaps you out of any romantic notions. The rain falls hard, and wells in creeks and streams before spilling over crests and embankments, and you find you need to pull the car onto the shoulder before you crash.

It comes regardless. Parked on a sagging shoulder, forehead on the steering wheel. It was as inevitable as the quiet moon slowly rising through the lifting rain and parting clouds, casting it's cold and indifferent spotlight straight through your driver's side window like an accusation. You find you cannot consent to the eye contact the pale orb demands. You refuse because She knows your secret. You did not drive all those many miles on some spiritual road trip, a deliberate bid for a spirit guide's counsel, or some sort of divine approval. Nor was this interstate voyage some nostalgic odyssey past the beautiful city where you studied your passions, or through the state you spent many a day and night on your stomach, binoculars glued to your face, life journal at the ready. This wasn't some vacation, and you know it.

You simply hadn't realized, when your hero and surrogate parental figure asked this favor, just what you would find.

Truth hits everybody. And here it hits head on as you sit in a beat-up rusty station wagon, informing you what you have known, but would not or could not acknowledge. You are terrified. Terrified of becoming just like that kindly old man you paid visit today. Demented and incomprehensible. (Will I one day drink to drown unknown demons? Will I no longer recognize where I am or know when someone is speaking? Will I still know the date or who is President?) And inevitably, as they tend to do, your thoughts wander easily to another of your acquaintance, a friend whose brains had been eaten and spit out by some horrid and unspeakable evil, leaving your friend irrevocably damaged.

And then, as if a veil had lifted, you feel drained and too tired to continue the journey the rest of the way tonight.

A cheap motel, a clean bed, and a hot breakfast lightens your mood. Your mind wanders to the notes from the night before, and you find that within its sheets, an inspiring and life affirming article is just begging to be written. But it can wait until you get home and out of the state that will always seem just a little gloomier.