It was the black of the road that kept me mesmerized. As the median stripes were sucked under my car rhythmically, one by one in time like a silent metronome, my eyes grew heavy, my brain lethargic, confused under that mysterious spell. A vast great pitch river of tar and pebbles. I floated between conscious states as if dreaming with open eyes downstream into the nothing of the night with only the static of road noise echoing through my doors. It was that last thought which stuck out to me and drew my mind from the road for a moment as if sleep stole me away. The dull little roar of the road outside– it was viscious, reminding me of the true dangers of my present state. I was safe inside this vehicle, my drowsy head thought with whirling ideas, but I knew outside the pavement would be rough, coarse, cruel. A thin line of aluminum and plastic kept the cold air from stinging my face, insects and flying debris from striking me all over, and kept safe my fragile body from the meat grinder below. All it took was one flaw, one mistake, and the car would careen off road at its high speed. I would be unable to control it and together me and my vehicle would grind, twist and splatter over the cold road. This woke me from my stupor.

Back to driving consciously. But it would not last long. The turbid flow of the road leaked through my conscious shell in weak but constant streams until my lucid thoughts became slow and lethargic once again. Thoughts of home, of stresses, of anything to keep me awake transformed into dripping honey-like thoughts instead. And before I could recognize the mistake, I was drawn in again towards that black mass which took me from my wits and left me drooling and dumbstruck. How lonely it was, I thought, to pave such a road as this. The remoteness of the route and its solitary construction with no turn offs or adjoining paths, and no lights to lead the way, leaving only one’s lonely headlights to illuminate the winding turns and straight-aways that seemed to stretch forever forward, all of this was forlorn and sad. A ghost road, it seemed to me, dead and untraveled, wearied by only the most desperate or the most destitute, or perhaps the most lost, though how lost are you if there is only one way? The road’s return lane put me at ease, however, as it meant there was a return from wherever this path lead, and a possible meeting of a second passing pair of headlights. How I wished for those second pair of lights to weave around a corner and blind me awake. How I wished I would see behind me a growing set of bulbs to travel with me this dark and outcast road. But none were with me, for even as long as I had travelled already. That fact hid a secondary fear behind the easing attitude of that second lane. Possibly, it was not a chance of return at all, but a chance to quit your journey before too long. Before it was too late…

And would I take that chance? Or pursue the night into the darkness where there was no assurance that the sun would rise over this long midnight road? As the lines were sucked under me I felt myself too curl over and fall beneath the hood of my car, tumbling, scraping, smashing against the concrete as the black of the night and black of the road merged into an unending nightmare.