Rear-view
There was a time many years ago, when I was still searching for some kind of purpose in my life, that I'd often drive long distances late at night. Coasting along in the darkness with no direction in mind. Letting the world and the darkness pass over and through me as I travelled unfamiliar routes and weird little side roads.
Sometimes, if there was no other traffic and the road was long and straight, I'd switch off my headlights and think about nothing. Close my eyes and see how long it took me before the nothing became a something and the fear and the panic kicked in to make me open them again. It always took longer than I expected.
Sometimes, if there was no other traffic and the road was long and straight, I'd switch off my headlights and think about nothing. Close my eyes and see how long it took me before the nothing became a something and the fear and the panic kicked in to make me open them again. It always took longer than I expected.
Those moments - eyes pressed shut, hands gripping the wheel, the blacktop hymn of rubber tyres on Tarmac throbbing too-loud in my ears - felt holy somehow, as if I was nearing some kind of grace note in the ongoing symphony of my life.
My little journeys into the Greater Darkness, as I thought of them, served a purpose, but I was never sure what it was. Afterwards, I'd feel richer, more alive; a fuller person than before. Mouth dry. Palms sweaty. Legs cramping. Strange images were burnt onto the back of my eyes: bleached white animal shapes, the silhouette of a solitary dancing figure, a spinning black hole like a whirlpool inside my head.
The experience was overwhelming in its purity.
Last night I did it again.
For the first time in decades.
When I opened my eyes, there was blood on my windscreen. I had not felt an impact; the ride had been smooth and quiet as I coasted along the empty night-time motorway. The blood was smeared; it ran slowly down the glass like thickened rain. I didn't dare look in the rearview mirror to see what lay behind me.
For the first time in decades.
When I opened my eyes, there was blood on my windscreen. I had not felt an impact; the ride had been smooth and quiet as I coasted along the empty night-time motorway. The blood was smeared; it ran slowly down the glass like thickened rain. I didn't dare look in the rearview mirror to see what lay behind me.
© Gary McMahon, 2025
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