To drive rashly through the empty streets

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


To drive rashly through the empty streets not towards yourself, but fleeing from yourself. In dead boredom in order to not freeze without waking up and loving. To extend through advertisements, on the bridges and to become a weak flash in the captivating glass of the endless windows. To run without a soul, to reflect on fragments of ice, to tear concrete. Not to be ill, not to sympathize rushing towards the abyss to overtake others. To accelerate for reaching the ecstasy of speed. In the spectrum of fiery passions, to stretch in delight. The glance that absorbed the eyes long ago, the mouth that filled with silence. Not to press the brakes in the turns flying through the crossroads. What will be ahead? It does not matter. The end is predictable. The night lights up like a cold dream. The wind begins to play scattering the snow.

 


Submitted: December 22, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Igor Mit. All rights reserved.

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