"Looking Back at Me, I See That I never Really Got it Right. I Never Stopped To Think of You. I'm Always Wrapped up in Things I Cannot Win…"

Lyrics to the song "Cold" by: Crossfade, Copyright in 2004 to Crossfade and Columbia Records


The midnight air blew warm through the trees on old Rte. 934.

Heavy metal drowned out the sound of tires on the road, the roar of the engine just a dull reminder that he couldn't escape the world he was trapped in. Where rubber met concrete, he tried to leave the horrid images of a life gone to hell on the road, pushing the accelerator past its limits, bending the metal truss it was attached to near it's breaking point. Voices echoed at the back of his mind, playing the same scene over and over again in his head like some old, worn out record...an overture to his flight from what was once considered to be a happy time.

He couldn't push his mind past the events that had happened what seemed like hours ago. Even though months had passed, it still drove him to madness, thinking about everything he'd done. Even after the fact, he was still acting upon things that should've never been. Thoughts that should've stayed implications...never to be made into action. Yet, here it was, being acted upon.

And so he ran. As far as his Jeep would take him. Away from that miserable trailer park. Away from friends and family. Away from her.

He drove on through the night, stopping only to take a quick break every now and then, filling his gas tank with what money he had left. Any hunger he had was all but gone, his only companions on the ride being a gallon jug of tea-cooler and a pack of Newport 100 length cigarettes, his favorite comforts. That and an old Cort acoustic guitar in a bag on his back seat.

Through the blaring sounds of In Flames pulsing through his cd player, his emotions pouring into the music, he drove straight through to the morning, eyes dead set on the road ahead of him. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, he finally pulled into a truckstop along the interstate and fell asleep.



"I have to admit, these past few weeks...I was only pretending to be happy, just for your sake. I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you."

"No...it was my fault for being so blind to my own actions. God I can't believe I was so stupid."

"I just wanted to tell you...that I don't think we were working out. So...I think this is it."

-It's Over.-

"Does it have to be? I can't understand why you feel this way."

"Then isn't that reason enough?"

-But you did understand.-

"Why can't you see what's going on around you? Is it because you're too strung up on what you want to accomplish in life? Am I just a means to an end for you? Something you can just throw away when you've no need for me anymore?"

"No! I'd never do that to you!"

-And yet...you did.-

"Damn it to Hell, open your eyes already! Quit living in your fantasy world!"

"I Have To! I Don't Have A Choice In The Matter Anymore! Reality Holds Nothing For Me Now!"

-No, of course it doesn't.-

"So I'm nothing then?"

-Nothing what so ever.-

"That's not true...I swear it's not true..."

"I think we both know it is. We're done. Goodbye."

"Please, Don't Leave Me!"

-And then...she left. Just like that.-



He awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the window to his Jeep. The time showing on the clock read 5:15pm. Sitting up, he rolled down the window, letting the fresh air waft in, rousing his senses. Turning to look outside, he was met with a face worn by time and a scruffy bandana, barely able to keep its hold on the thick clumps of brown touseled hair in check. He leaned heavily on the door, caloused skin pressing against the window of the vehicle, the smell of alcohol and stale smoke clinging around him.

"Hey bud, spare a smoke?" the man asked.

Looking around quickly, he pulled the release on the seat to bring it to it's upright position. Sitting up, he reached into his pockets without a word, drawing the pack of cigarettes out and handing one to the guy.

"Thanks man. Been dying for one all day."

"Not a problem." he sighed.

The other man lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply from it before standing up and shaking himself out. He was tall, looking to be in his late thirties to early forties, with a thin scruff of a beard showing around the edges of his chin. A jean-jacket vest was wrapped around a thin upper body frame, while leather boots and torn black jeans clung to his legs.

"The name's Gene. And you?" the older man asked.

"Everyone I know calls me D." he replied.

"D huh? Short for something I take it."

D nodded curtly, still shaking the sleep from his eyes.

"Damarik."

"Really? What's the background on that name? European? French? Sounds foreign."

"Nah...it's something that came to me when I was a kid. Used it as a tag on all my drawings and stuff."

Gene stepped back as Damarik stepped out of the Jeep, lighting a smoke of his own.

"It's actually short for a longer name...I just don't use the rest of it all that often."

The older man grunted in reply.

"Kids. Always tryin' to outrun the names their parents give em."

Damarik laughed lightly at that.

"So true, you've no idea how close to home that hit."

"Well...Damarik...it's been a pleasure meetin' ya, but I've gotta get back on track. Got a truck run goin' up to Maine, gotta be there by Thursday mornin'."

"Hey, nice talking to ya. Hope it goes well."

The trucker started walking off as Damarik leaned up against the side of the Jeep. He paused midstep, however, turning back for just a moment.

"No matter how hard ye' try...ain't no outrunning the past. It'll always catch up to ya' sooner or later."

And with that, he returned to his truck, leaving Damarik standing beside his Jeep in the middle of the parking lot. The wind kicked up for a moment, drowing out the noise of the cars passing by on the interstate, the only other sound echoed voices in his head yet again.

'That was an interesting visit...'

"Tell me about it." he returned.

'You know, he's absolutely right. Look at me, and you'll see the truth behind his words.'

Damarik shook his head.

"I don't really think that your situation counts in what I'm dealing with. No offense meant."

'None taken little one. None taken.'

He'd always wondered what exactly it was that brought that consoling voice to him. Whether it'd been the trinket of a glass ball he'd found locked away in his grandmother's attic...or possibly that he'd been born connected to it, Damarik had heard that voice since he'd been fourteen...taking his new name from it, in truth.

Outing what remained of the stub left smoldering at the end of his cigarette, Damarik returned to the Jeep and turned the key. Once back on the interstate, he cranked the volume back up on the stereo, throwing in the next CD in his case. A light drop-D guitar strum came up as the overture to The Lost Prophets song, Shinobi Vs. the Dragon Ninja. Somehow feeling lighter since the previous night, he listened in, even singing along to the words behind the steering wheel.

-And I know you say...that I can't care for someone...But are you that clever...that you smile forever? Is it summer yeah...'cuz I just don't feel it. Baby it's a treaty...maybe you are not her...-


"You're looking over my shoulder, always asking where I've been...where I'm going...who I'm going with...I can't take it anymore!"

"But I've always tried to let you be who you are. I never meant to pry, honest."

"Well...you are. You're turning out to be no better than the last three."

-And you claim to be just trying to get to know her friends...-

"He was telling a funny story...but I couldn't hear parts. Is it wrong to ask what was going on?"

"That's not what you were doing!"

-Indeed...you were being nosy.-

"If I could take back everything you say I've done...then what would we have? Absolutely nothing!"

"Don't start yelling at me!"

"I'm Not Yelling. I'm trying to tell you what my reasons are!"

"You really scare me sometimes...you know that?"

-Yes...you can be quite frightening when you get angry...-



The sound of an incoming truck horn snapped him back to reality. Slamming on the brakes to avoid the rear end of the car in front of him, Damarik could feel the Jeep's center of gravity fly off to the left as the steering wheel jerked from his hands, the concrete median strip throwing the vehicle to the right, hard. Shattering glass flew about the inside of the SUV, obstructing his vision, cutting into his palms as he tried to get hold of the wheel again. But the Jeep wouldn't respond. It threw itself to the right again, once more meeting the median barrier. In a groaning protest, the vehicle flipped to its side, the short wheel base skewing the balance of the Jeep to Hell and back. Damarik felt himself hit the ceiling, though not as hard as he could have, given that the seatbelt held firmly.

As the world spun out of control around him, the sound of screaming metal filled his ears. A deafening cacophany of twisting steel, the revv of the engine at full acceleration and the heavy thumps of the Jeep skipping across the shoulder of the road blazed a symphony of horror to the overture that would surely be his death. As the engine hit it's final breaking point, an explosion rocked the vehicle, and the world went black.


-Now you've done it.-

-Gone and wasted everything. What would your mother think?-

'I had to leave...I couldn't bear to stay any longer...'

-Well...at least your father won't be able to ridicule you for this occasion.-

'Shut up and leave me alone...'

-There you go again. Pushing others away. Just like you did to her.-

'Shut Up!'

-And yelling at a voice in your head...I'll bet the men at PhilHaven would love to get their gloves on you...-



"Hey D...Dammik...whatever...you alive in there?!"

He was faintly aware of the voice of the trucker from the rest stop. Everything else seemed like a horrible nightmare. Smoke could be seen from the front windshield, which had decided to come undone into millions of shards everywhere. There was a dull tingle in his palms where pieces of said glass had lodged themselves and cut deep, blood flowing from the tiny holes as free as the water that could be heard in the distance.

"Don't worry son, help's on the way!"

"Help...never wanted...needed...help before..." he gasped weakly.

"Just hang tight bud, I'm gonna get ye' out of there!"

Damarik's vision faded in and out as the sensation of hitting the passenger door of the Jeep slammed through his body. The sound of apologies soon became deafened by the roar of traffic on the interstate, quickly followed by the wail of sirens.

Sirens...

'That's no fire engine or ambulance I've ever heard...' his mind swam in the dizzying after-effects of the crash. The pain was barely a twinge...even as the blackness of unconsciousness crept up upon his eyes.

'Sounds like...an old air raid siren...'