Droplets of cool rain streaked down the windshield of Tyler Brown’s 1992 Ford Taurus in a fashion that was as disorganized as the thoughts milling through his mind. His foot was pressed to the gas, as if driving faster, farther, and to a different place than ever before might just leave his problems behind. He knew better than to believe this could happen, but he continued driving through the twisting roads that would lead him where ever they would lead him; He didn’t know quite where that was yet. The only thing he was certain of was that the sanity he once knew was in ruins like a glass house during an Earthquake. He could only hope that fragments of his former self might be pulled from the splintering remains of the mess he was driving from.
    Time went on, the rain went on, and life went on while he continued to drive. The darkness fell over the sky, the inevitable night finally showing it’s face. That’s when Tyler flew into the windshield. Where his skull impacted the sturdy glass, the spider web cracks blossomed and became drenched in a splatter of crimson blood. Tyler’s dark brown hair clung to his face as he strained against the seat belt that was tying him to the wreckage. He crawled out of a side window, looking at his beat up car with a sense of envy washing over him. Completely overturned and shattered, the car itself was decomposing. Oh yes, the sick green feeling of envy washed over him at the ease of death for even the metal corpse that lay before him. 
    Any wounds that he had sustained in his crash were healed by the time he walked the half mile to the nearest gas station. His appearance was macabre, he was covered in blood, dirt, and pieces of murdered machinery, so he was surprised when he approached the counter and the man behind it didn’t notice. He asked politely to use the phone. “It’s in the back,” said the rather dull employee of the Gas-’n-Gulp.
    The cab arrived and Tyler got in the back. “Take me anywhere. I don’t care,” he growled at the driver. He was taken to a nearby city and dropped off in front of a hotel. Once Tyler paid the man for his services he walked away, very far away, until the light of the sun was breaking through the trees. Eventually, he ended up back to his little apartment and the threat of the problem became more and more pressing. He sighed and entered his dwelling, where the only thing left of anything was a tiny handwritten note in the middle of the floor. He bent down and picked up the inoffensive letter, which read: “Immortality is not a virtue.”
    Tyler reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. The piece of paper with the message caught flame and deteriorated into a pile of black ash. He then left it there, the ash and the lighter, and sat on the floor in the farthest corner from it. He glared at it angrily because even if he destroyed the note and all of the evidence that she had ever existed, he could never execute the memories he savored, stitched into his heart.
    Her name was Rachel. She somehow found her way into Tyler’s heart, though he had never been looking for love. There was just something about her that made him so uniquely vulnerable to her. She was like having a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long; a compulsive urge and without it you would cease to live. And now she has left Tyler alone to drown, and he wishes he could. He didn’t know how he was going to live without her. Could he?

The End

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