The cars sped by so close to him that he could feel the wind suck him toward the street. He found himself leaning towards the cars, liking the near-death experience.
The sun’s heat made his brow heavy with sweat, his eyes squint, and his forehead crinkle. The sleeves of his jacket stuck to his forearms. The safety pins holding the sleeves together were irritating his skin, tearing it in small red lines. His sharp, gelled bangs crawled into his eyes, blocking out the unwanted world. Each passing car was taking him farther inward like the coast on a beach. The cars themselves started veering to the left as they passed, but a school bus was flying down the street.
He saw it from the corner of his eyes, and leaped off his toes in a downward angle, where he expected the bus’s wheel. His nose busted open on the asphalt, flooding his nostrils with red. His kneecaps awkwardly hit the ground, locking the wrong way. The pain quickly reached his senses, but was short-lived. He focused on the bus tire that lay inches away. The tread of the tire never seemed more real. The wheel spun quicker than his eyes could track. Its sharp lines blurred as it spun in stopped movement.
The sun’s angle didn’t change. The shadows stayed their length, refusing to grow. The beads of sweat under Ed’s arms rushed out. A safety pin on his right sleeve had torn a deep cut. The wetness from the drops of blood felt no different from the sweat everywhere else. The wind that ruffled his clothing no longer fought him. As the wheel closed the distance towards his eyes, he waited.
The increasing pressure on his head blocked out his thoughts. The impractical notion of a human head in a vice came to his thoughts. His eyes crossed to double-vision, and then they shifted closer. His hearing cut like a taught wire. As if submerged into the deep sea, his senses faded. His body wasn’t under his control. Like a beating from the ocean’s waves, his limp body bumped into the air. He bounced against the bus’s underside. The pain was big. He remembered jumping off roofs with his skateboard and feeling the cement take all of his weight. This was good pain – not a flick on the ear, but a solid baseball bat to the head. The bouncing was also quick lived. The bus’s back wheel approached, though this time it was at his waist. He watched the rubber wheel crush his stomach. Like riding a good wave, he flew through the air in an arch. Nothing felt right. His face felt destroyed and his lungs felt collapsed. Yet still, he knew his body was rolling, and he knew when it came to a stop.
The pain ended. All was black. Fear crept slowly into his mind. Falling. Downward he dropped through an endless abyss. His eyes opened and he noticed his speed was increasing. His vision blurred as he adjusted to the unsettling vast amount of time that had passed. He felt he was getting lighter and more fragile. Fear showed itself. He thought to himself, “What happens when I hit the bottom?” Yet he continued falling deeper into nothingness.
Hunger appeared. His mouth went wet with saliva. His teeth pulled away from his mouth and tore out along with the roots. The blood spray soaked his tongue in its rusty taste. His tongue rippled and detached. Liquid shot outwards like his many nights of harsh vomiting. His ears ripped off and scurried upwards. The tip of his nose followed it in leaf-like movement. Patches of his skin were cracking. This wasn’t the pain he liked; it wasn’t the heavy pain. Larger pieces of flesh wore through the air. His muscles loosened and entered the blackness while his body remained freefalling, and his bones rattled violently until they detached. Fear disappeared.
Heat overcame him like a backdraft. Hotter than flames, it scorched his mind. He was no longer falling. The fear was back.
Time was never same for Ed. He no longer ate, slept, or even breathed. All was a constant burn to his mind. There was no measure of time, but Ed became to know the heat. It’s uncomfortable barrage was now more tolerable. He came to expect the scorcher. He wanted the heat to rise, and it did. Like a hot shower with an endless supply of heat, it raised as his tolerance increased. He thought about the freefall down the abyss, and yearned to tell his experience to someone. He talked to himself within the layers of his mind. He had no voice box to sound aloud, and no other people around to tell him he was crazy.
“I fell through this black tunnel, man. It was fuckin’ endless,” he told himself. “No, I didn’t where I was going.” He could see an image of himself in his mind making gestures with his arms. He remembered staring in a mirror making wild expressions. The other person he talked to was just like himself. They didn’t call each other by name; it was unnecessary. “Right. So I’m falling, and then it’s this blackness.” He loved telling the story. The image of himself became looser in his expressions. He was more zany and comical. Each time he told the story, it was funnier, scarier, and more entertaining.
He began to love himself. He talked casually like to a brother. The heat continued it’s seemingly downpour of rain. The scorching felt great. It revitalized him. Like a much-needed double-shot of booze, he welcomed it. The bartender was nicer than anyone he knew. “Yes, I’ll have another. Look at this fuckin’ guy.” He laughed manically. The heat was more intense than ever with each passing moment. He tried to recall the initial heat. “It’s really hard to tell the difference without the contrast right at hand,” he said. “Man, and so I’m falling down this abyss...”
He felt more alive now than he ever did, he thought. His energy was soaring. If he could run, he bet he could outrun a car. He was convinced he could out-swim a boat. He even told himself he could fly faster than any bird. His confidence skyrocketed pass the clouds. He was floating through the astral sky, lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head and his leg kicked over the other one. Pure divineness, he thought. His mind began thinking of multiple things at once. He was telling his abyss story to himself while flying faster than the birds while fucking the girl in class that he always wanted while watching his internal thermometer go up past 6000 degree Fahrenheit. He was more active now than he ever was alive, he told himself. He was a corporate man with a large Italian handcrafted desk. His file cabinets held all of the hard copies. His computer backed up all of his information real-time to thousands of servers online. He didn’t need to eat, he told himself. “I don’t know why the fuck anyone would want to be back there.” His story of the abyss was now the funniest thing he’s ever told and the saddest tragedy he had ever heard.
There was no sense of other people. His narcissism led him to a river to watch his reflection. He smiled proudly, then sinisterly. He knew he could beat his reflection in a fight, yet respected him as a considerable fighter. He complimented himself and it complimented back.
The bartender of heat explained that he got a new shipment in stock. Ed was as riveted as well was the bartender. “What could be better than all of the vodka you’ve been serving? You already have the premium liquor. You’re fuckin kiddin’ me. If you are, I’ll brake your fuckin’ arms.” He laughed hysterically as he sat on his barstool, rocking back and forth. “Hey how come I’m the only guy that drinks here? What is everyone a fuckin’ straight-edge?” The bartender shrugged. “Everyone has their own tastes.” Ed looked doubtful. “Well, one taste has to be better the next.” He theorized it out in his mind by drawing diagrams, jumping to conclusions, and then back-tracing. All of his other lives were simultaneously being lived out. He was still flying through the sky, still honing his abyss story, and still fucking the girl’s brains out in class.
“What’s taking so long?” he asked the bartender. “Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I thought I’d let the hype build in your brilliant mind for a while.” Ed agreed. “You know, I really am a clever guy. I know it has to be stronger. I love flavors, so it must have just a firework’s array of explosions.” Colors too, he thought. “I bet there are nonstop flashes of bright color. It’s a bowl of Lucky Charms with just a mind-fuck of neon purple, red, orange, and blue; with marshmallow fields that have caverns to explore and clouds so dense you can walk on them.” He looked to the bartender with his eyes sparkling in madness. “I bet it’s all I want… And more!” The bartender laughed, and played with his mustache. His eyes lowered down to the counter. “What’s wrong?” Ed asked. The bartender only shook his head.