The Melancholy Mile

An long straight piece of road lies inviting in the moonlight. I crank the stereo, punch the accelerator and leave all my troubles behind. I'm burning out of town, leaving the jumbled mix of emotions, the anger, the distrust, the betrayal, in a cloud of dust behind my car. I leave all that in the cluster of houses behind me, and give myself up to the country fields. I'm leaving, with no sense of direction yet still going somewhere. I love this road, this time of night, with nothing to worry about, except keeping it between the ditches.

Then I start thinking. I've driven this road thousands of times, so my brain heads for autopilot. I don't even steer so much as just recite practiced motions for every bounce. My brain, curse it, starts stirring up all those troubles. "No" I cry, "This wasn't how it was supposed to be." But it happens anyway. The stars no longer look clear through the windshield. They stare back, cold and distant. I don't take solace in the quiet fields around me. I scream silently at their barren life. I ache for someone to accompany me on this awful journey. It hurts just to watch it go by. But only the wind answers.

Finally, the hill. I ease off the gas, and the car rolls down the hill, into the valley, where my home is. I slow the car, put on the blinker, and turn up the driveway. All emotion is left desolate on the highway behind me. I'm still here.

...and the final riffs die slowly away.

This bitter journey is a torment to my soul, yet also a solace. It is my penance for my social ineptitude. It scourges the worry, the hate, and the fear from my personality, leaving behind pure essence. It can also rescue my worried mind from it's meaningless fretting. I know its peace, the peace one finds on an old battlefield. All of its surprises are gone.