Your Turn

Let me tell you a story....

Knuckles bone-white underneath leather, my hands grip the steering wheel. My right hand stabs the shifter forward, anticipating the starting signal. A deep, carnal growl bubbles underneath the hood as the car approaches the white line.

Red.

Green.

Boom.

My right food hard to the floor, the car explodes forward as the tires scream for tar and leave a thick cloud behind. The needle reaches 10 and I yank the knob into second, crushing the gas pedal through the metal floor. Gears squeal into third knifing through the first turn, I ease up on the gas and twist the steering column right. As the rear pushes left, my nose slashes towards the apex and I plunge the accelerator.

Fourth gear.

The engine yelps for more gas, pleads. I oblige and smear the boot tread, already melting, into aluminum. Second turn coming up, the wheel strains to the left and peels back a glove layer, stitches snapping. The red dye bleeds onto the grip, autographing my movements. I almost lose the tail, gear down, and counter-steer tightly into the wall, drawing sparks from the rear fender. A strap bites my shoulder and burns a thick, red stripe from neck to waist.

Snarling down the straightaway, the needle spikes and jumps, but I push it further. Fumes rush from the vents and sulfuric debris crowds my helmet while burning my nostrils. An impending swerve beckons as the speedometer wretches towards 200, mocking me. I drop one more gear...

And the world drops out from under me. Chalkboard scrapes of twisted metal burst my eardrums, the tires freeze, and the wheel locks, snapping a wrist as I try to maintain the steer. The first impact into the wall obliterates the rear axle.

Roll 1.

My eyes view the world from below as gravity forces my stomach downwards into my throat.

Roll 2.

I hear cartilage snap like guitar strings as my left knee dislocates. The pain is enough to dull the shattering of my shin as the front end crumples against an asphalt sky.

Roll 3.

My spinal cord corkscrews when the steel gate bisects the car's interior.

Roll 4.

Glittering detritus litters the track. Flames lick the ground and kiss the sky. Each breath is a vaporous, brimstone lunch I'll taste for days. Half-blind, I look towards the sky, think of my wife and children...

I can't lose.