a little taste of regret; (offensive) wrote in totheblack,
a little taste of regret;


Title; Untitled;
Fandom; Original.
Notes; quiet musings of a drive home this evening.

There's something deeply calming about driving down a nearly deserted main road, your windows down, listening to the kind of music that makes you happy and sad, all at the same time. Thoughts pour through your mind, not really about the music, or the road ahead of you, but words, ideas, and past musings. Reflecting on a time passed, when you were a small child, and your older sister had just gotten into her first car accident. You were in love with horses then. Claimed you'd never learn how to drive, horseback riding was better. It was freedom. Cars were metal and fake. Nothing compared to a horse.

It occurs to you now, how wrong you were as you listen to the crickets off to the side of the thick metal guardrails, invisable in a grassy field hidden by the inky darkness of the night. Driving alone after a good night of work with a few highlights of bad, but joking around with your coworkers and laughing along with them until you part your ways for the night makes it a considerably decent seven bucks and twenty-five cents an hour, that is freedom. The calm after the bustle, the zen hum of the engine, the sound of the wind rushing, the tires rolling over pavement, all mixed in with the sounds of the night and the music on your radio, that sweet but sad melody.

It's more freeing than any horseback ride ever was. Sure, you're going twenty miles over the speed limit, occasionally dipping down for a minute or two, or whenever you come to a stoplight, but that's not important. You're not worried about the speed of the car or getting a ticket. Tonight, the car is as much an animal as a machine, and you're just letting it go, guiding it gently.

It's not a car, it's a horse. A gentle, powerful animal, capable of killing you, if it so wishes.

But not tonight. It wants the freedom of the road as you do. The loud gunning of a motarcycle doesn't phase you or it. You're connected, free. You could drive all night, drive to places you only dream about. It's all within your grasp, during that fifteen minute drive from work to home.

As you get closer to home, you have to stop once again, the confines of the city forcing you to bridle your freedom for one last time before the stretch home. The dingy truck in front of you is listening to something tasteless with a lousy beat. J-Rule or K-Z or G-Dawg, or whatever rappers or wrappers or home-diggies are calling themselves these days.

Doesn't matter. You can turn the volume of the sounds of the night, the calming, happy-yet-sad music up. Drown out the offending racket, until the light changes, freeing you and your animal once again, allowing the dingy one to get far enough ahead so again all you can hear is the music and the night.

Your heart longs to keep going once you reach your driveway, but you know you can't. You have to go back to the place where you live. Where you sleep and eat, and sleep.

But you pause, giving the horse, now once again a car silent and ticking from the rapid cooling of the engine, a fond pat on it's hood, before glancing up at the silent sky.

Away from the city, the stars look so bright, so clear.

And you realize, life isn't so bad, when you have that fifteen minutes of freedom to look forward to.
Tags: original: perspective
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