The Exit

For the contest, you said "dream inspired." I took it literally and copied an actual dream.

The Exit

 

 

Classmates shuffled by; their queue, never-ending.

 

My friend gazed longingly.  The gravity of our predicament lost to his fantasies.  He’d forgotten his place. 

 

Of course, I’d remind him.  “We have to get out of here.”

 

His eyes lost their glow.  With a dull nod, he followed me through the hall.

 

Robotic students affixed to tracks in the floor, their happy faces whisk by, one after the other, as they scrolled along the revolving marquis.  We ignored the attraction.

 

Ahead of me, he pushed open the exit.  “My car is out front.”

 

I nodded, following him to the crushed Buick.  His mother met us in the front seat, her eyes screamed red.  Scooting to the middle, she resituated the infant on her lap, its presence, soon forgotten.

 

Her vile tongue slithered.  “You can’t go back there.  Leave.”

 

We couldn’t argue.

 

At the start, the car misfired a couple cylinders.

He turned to me. "It'll smooth out."

He wasn't wrong.  We left town with no problems; yet, the highway posed a danger.

 

My friend guided us onto a limestone road.  The tires bucked over the terrain, but that soon ended.  He turned into a field.  

Darkness obscured the horizon.  Immediately in front, headlights illuminated a muddy trail.  Tall grass flicked into my window.

 

The driver's eyes glued forward.  “This is the best route.  No one knows about it.”

 

I couldn’t help but retort.  “Then why is there a trail?”

 

Our tires slipped against puddled water, nearly stalling, but he weaved into the grass to regain traction.

 

Two posts glowed ahead.  A farmer stood beside them dumbfounded; his hands clutched a barbed gate.

 

My nerves frayed.  “He caught us.  It’s over”

 

The car continued on, my friend, unperturbed.  “Dude, relax.  He’s nobody.”

 

As we crossed the boundary, a confused farmer watched.

 

We turned onto a smooth rock road.  One headlight went out; the car disappeared.  In its place, we sat atop an undersized motorbike.  It struggled to accelerate.

I turned to catch a final glimpse of the farmer’s reaction, but his eyes vanished just like the car.  Hollow sockets stared back at me.  He appeared to grow in size; though, his actual height never changed. 

 

With a few lumbering steps, he followed us down the road, his speed steadily increasing.

 

Our bike pushed to the limit, but the weight of its occupants bogged the motor.  The farmer closed the gap.

 

His arm reached out.  I stared into empty eyes; their allure enticed me.

 

A large hand groped toward my shoulder.  We couldn’t escape.  The bike was too heavy.

 

Author's Note

The struggles of escaping a small town's comfort.