I rumble along on the road, tired, fatigued. Too old for this sort of thing. Need repairs. I sigh. I sense a foreboding darkness in my belly, of murder and hatred and fear. Don't like it. Immature kids, they dirty my worn seats with globs of spit. Careless.
I remember. Long ago, I was new. Clean, fresh, eager for my first ride. Loved the excitement, the honor of carrying humans in my belly. Often, I would go too fast. I blame it on my youth. I had problems. Human drivers became frustrated. Complained to their boss. Goes too fast. Can't control it. Something wrong. I tell you, it was my youth. My passion. I had my strength. I showed off, proud. Boss didn't care. Wouldn't pay the money to fix me, my problems.
It was a beautiful day, shining. On a highway. Few other cars. A new driver handled me. I was full, many passengers in me, on their way to some human sports game, championships, I heard. I always had it easy with new drivers. I breezed across cars on the road. Went faster, faster. Testing myself, my abilities. Driver looked worried, anxious. Faster, faster.
"Stop! Stop!" The driver screamed, turned pale white with fear. No controlling me. I sped, sped, sped, faster, faster, faster. Shrieks from the passengers. I could not stop myself. Speed. Whirling wind, beating on my windows. A siren, a wailing siren. Cops. I tried to slow down, I tell you. I know sirens when I hear them. "Slow!" They seemed to wail. "Slow, slow, stop, stop!" I could not stop. My wheels, they flew, grinding the road.
A car in front of me. No! Surprised faces, shocked, pressed against the windows. It had been beautiful day.
I shut off my thinking, clamp down my memories. Don't like to remember. Don't like it. After that, the accident, I was mangled. Boss threw me in the dump. Worthless to repair. I lived in darkness, in guilt. Never would I run again, never, not after what I did. I was there, in the dump, for years and years. They passed by, and I cared not. On one of those miserable days, I was towed out. Someone wanted me. Repaired me, my run-down ugly self. Put me on the road again. I hated it, didn't want to drive. I had to. Never again did I speed. Never again did I have the urge to go faster, faster.
And here I am. Old, tired. Weary. These passengers, some are dangerous. Don't like that feeling. I rumble along on the road. To my destination.