A Driving Desert Rain

Mechanical repetition. Useless detritus removed solely for the purpose of returning to normality. Wake, eat, work, eat, work, eat, drink, drink, drink, sleep, repeat.

The wipers sweep clean the seemingly perfect shield of glass, providing an opportunity to stay on the road a moment longer. Swept away and immediately replaced by larger and more forceful droplets, visibility diminishes. It is too much. Plants wash away from the earth; roots cling only to water. Nothing to anchor to. Life slides away, caught up in the deluge of excess.

“Only another hour and we should be there.”

No one replies. Another person hasn’t occupied the passenger seat for quite sometime now.

“How long has that been on?” he wonders while tapping the top of the turn signal stalk.

“Ah, peace.”

It is confounding how much pressure minor annoyances can put on the mind.

“It all just piles up,” he guesses.

So many things in our lives unresolved, reduce a man’s abilities to only survival. So much debris scatters across what should be a clean landscape. The good can wash away from a mans soul in a downpour like this.

It all just builds up. Pushes up and out. Shoves waves of spray ahead and gains pressure to the point that all of that useless extra rain, all of that more than a man needs, can pick up a 1970 Ford Torino and take it where it likes. It just so happens, that what it likes, is what it all is at its essence. Chaos.

Screaming tires. Amazing how quickly it all slips away. The rocks rip through steel belts, and bits of black rubber scatter across sodden sand. No tire remains. The wheel rim digs in deep and contorts the steering, ripping control from the drivers hands. The car careens off of a steep embankment and is thrown end for end. The crumpled hulk of mangled steel comes to rest on its top, pinned against a rock, and submerged in the rushing torrent of an arroyo.

Crushing pressure from all sides.

Horrifying physical pain and regret.

All washed away in a driving desert rain.

ZAD