Notes: I was one a car ride at night, in Germany, and this is the result.
Well, I think the morbid game of Legos had something to do with it too.
It rushes past, the ghastly river, blinding and brilliant, a thousand
lights of terrible sparks. Dark flashing colors as they rush by.
Bobbing lights in darkness above, lime green, dull orange, blued white
light of those dying. You clutch the surface of the curving band before
you, feel the smoothness of faux leather, the feel of molded grips. But
it is not leather, it never died, not like the river that rushes past.
Breath catches in your throat at the pattering sounds, striking at
unseen intervals before you. But there are no birds. Simply bugs, you
tell yourself, not souls. No, not souls. Dark shapes hurtle past, in
the distance are splashing endless colors of blue and violet, yet the
horrid river still rushes. No matter how fast you go, it's still
there. You follow the red will'o'wisps in front of you, try to calm
your beating heart, ignoring the dull rumbling all around you that makes
you want to scream in terror. Then they are before you, the gruesome
soul river of lights, never ordered or designed. All flashes as you
careen violently about, to be bruised and battered on the curving band.
Then it's quiet and dark, only the drip drip of red as it falls. But
you don't see it, you don't hear it fall. They rush by you no more.