Puting down the White pony

No crash, it must of been that bad for me to not even hear it. My eyes are still closed. My vision is filled with pink. The pinkish orange glow that the sun makes when you are staring right into it with your eyes closed. Thinking that it can't be the sunshine, I feel wind on my face. Just the slightest breeze. It feels just like lying in the grass on a bright sunny day. Something I have done so many times before on the golf course. Never do I feel so alive as when I just stop and lie down in the grass and stare at the sky or just gently absorb the energy of the sun. This euphoria washes over me and I am forgetting what has happened to me. I hold onto it a bit longer wondering if dying always feels this good.



I start becoming aware of my surroundings but only by touch. My eyes are still closed. I am still in my truck. I can feel the seat underneath me, with its basic comfort and somewhat scratchy weaved upholstery. My right arm is resting on the plastic arm rest. Then the breeze brushed my face again, warm and delicious, just like a summer day. Things don't add up, first how can I be in my truck and feel a breeze when all of my windows are up. Where did all of this warmth come from? It was cold and dark on my way to work, even if it is hours later it is still winter. I stop thinking and simply open my eyes.

Somehow I knew what I was going to see because I have seen it before. I am still shocked to see it, telling my self I won't be some unsuspecting dupe I try and keep my cool. It isn't working my hears is speeding up faster and faster. I was right I am still in my truck but my windshield is gone, with no sign of broken glass or anything. All of my windows are gone they look as if they have simply dissolved. I look out onto a parking lot covered in grass and weeds. A parking lot I saw destroyed several months ago. It stretches long and flat for over a half a mile. Just off to my right is the Cotton Square mall. The old factory turned into a shopping center. There it sits just like the dream of the crow, roof sliced away on the back half, smoke tower crumbling, windows gone but all of that red brick standing strong. The side I am facing could almost look like an old school. Large square windows, all glass is gone, evenly places across the facade. The large windows are stacked three high, one for each floor. Further away from me is the building juts out into the lot breaking that smoothness. I start to lose focus ans the breeze picks up. It is still warm but it is really dry and it makes my eyes water. I look down to shield my eyes. Then I see my poor white pony. Everything that I was not touching has aged a thousand years. The passenger seat and the kid booster that sat there are nothing but molded plastic and springs. My own seat was just as it was this morning, this morning, I scan the sky and my guess says it is about three in the afternoon. I see the hood of the white pony, all the paint is gone and only the deepest hues of rust prevail with some spots being complete holes. I look to my left and see the driver door seems to be in OK shape. My elbow propped up against it. Pulling the handle the door swings open and I step out. Before I take a better look around I look at my pony.

No longer white she is all rust. The tires are gone and she sits on rusty rims except in the back. Those rims are gone and the only thing holding her up is the frame. Everything looks ancient like abandoned farm equipment sitting in a field waiting until it just rusts for so long that it simply disintegrates to nothingness. Before shutting the door I grab my water bottle that was sitting with me in my seat and my keys in the pocket of the drivers door. The sun tels me I'll need water and I already know I need my keys. I swing the door shut out of habit. As soon as it latches it begins a rapid transformation. It is catching up with the rest of the truck. I watch in management as the paint peels away from the door. The plastic handle just falls off. The seat inside starts turning to dust. The breeze picks up again and a mini dust devil picks up in the cab of my truck. The particles of cloth whirling around and around until the seat is devoid of covering and stuffing. It all starts flying out the window at me. Once again I close my eyes as I am pelted with fabric. My nose fills with the smell of must and moldy cloth. The breeze dies. My side view mirror falls to the ground, the glass does not break, it is already gone, the plastic turns to plastic pebbles and rolls away. Now all of the truck looks the same rotten, useless, abandoned, dead. I mourn for the loss of my white pony.