Routine, 6 in the evening, back from work, I was using the same route back home. Sprinkled with a light jam, inundated with the frustration from my failures and embarrassment carried back from work, with the windows winded down, the winds orchestrated my nonchalant drive back home.

Simply acknowledging that this period of my life was hitting the trough as I was at the awkward phase of life where nobody seemed right, anybody felt wrong, being alone was just. Waving to the guards, drove straight, a right and another left. A premonition hit me like a truck, I responded to it instantly.

BANG! The tragedy happened to be a nick faster than instant, I crashed into a reversing vehicle from a dead angle, I did not even register that car inside my head when I made that turn, harsh.

My mood was as morose as the skies were, my head was fueled with blinding ignominious anger, I could not think straight, I plunged right into the situation without cogitating. Slamming my door hard, displaying some of my anger. The man stood singularly in front of me, suit and red tie, bald with tinted glasses, staring through my very soul.

A chill was sent down my spine. Shook, quivered, I took a bold step, asserting my dominance, to no avail. I was scared, shitless.

“You… You there!” clenching my fists, striking a chord, still trembling, anger, “Wh…”

He interjected with a clean smile from a expressionless face, “I am sorry, sir.” nothing hidden in his voice, he was genuine. “I am…”

Losing it, “Who do you think you are?” I was scared, but my fear was surmounted by the idiotic anger- ego, shutting out my senses completely. Irrationally, I marched in front, grabbed him by his collar.

He did nothing wrong, but I did, “Why are yo…”

“I am sorry, sir.” he said apologetically with a wide smile, “This is going the worst day of your life.” A turn of table, unprecedented. The man flung me into my car, shattering the windscreen, an superhuman feat, my life flickered across me.

I thought I was dead, but I woke up, seeing the fluorescent lights of the hospital, glaring blankly into the white walls.

Why?

Craving for more? Down below:
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What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami (Book Review)
I WANT TO RUN!
Black Box #finale
Black Box #two
Black Box #one

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