Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ROAD TRIP (vacation) (07/02/15)
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TITLE: Infinity | Previous Challenge Entry
By Terry R A Eissfeldt
07/09/15 -
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ADD TO MY FAVORITES
“Pardon me?”
“Infinity.”
“What do you mean?”
Hands ten and two. Flex muscles to prevent cramping.
Check.
Cruise control set nine km/h over the posted speed limit. Just enough … not too much.
Check.
Left mirror. Headlights two kilometres back.
Check.
Right mirror. Endless posts flying by.
Check.
Rear view mirror. Black balaclava. Hopeless dark eyes. Silver revolver.
Check.
Gas gauge. Half full.
Check.
RPM gauge. 2500.
Check.
Temperature gauge. Rising.
Check.
Oil pressure gauge. Falling.
Check.
“We’re in it. Infinity I mean. We’re all a part of it. It’s in front of us, behind us, under us, above us. There’s no escape.”
Now he’s eloquent? Now he’s philosophical? Where’s the yelling, growling, shoving, angry man that forced his way into my car three hours ago?
250 kilometres of tense, terrifying silence broken, not by a bullet to my head, as I feared, but by one word: Infinity.
Keeping a steady gaze through the windshield I find myself reluctantly agreeing with him. The flat, barren, blacktop stretches out before me seemingly without end. Infinity.
But an end is in sight.
I glance down to the oil and temperature gauges. Creeping toward the red zone.
The oil will run out. The engine will seize. The hole in the oil pan isn’t going to be fixed out here. And I’m certainly not telling my captor about our inevitable screech to a halt.
But then what? I shudder as I think of the possibilities.
“Not long now.”
This announcement hangs in the air like smog in a windless city. Clouding the sky. Pressing down. Limiting the view.
“Where are we going?” I repeatedly asked this question for the first hour to no avail.
“To infinity and beyond!”
I chance a quick look in the rearview mirror. Balaclava remains though his eyes now have a glint of light in them. Less like a shark. More like a bull. A bull about to charge.
Suddenly they’re staring back at me. Sharply. Searchingly. I look away. Shame uncovers me. I don’t have the courage to stare him down.
“Do you believe in something beyond infinity?” His voice cracks.
Do I? That’s the question. Where the rubber meets the road.
Five months ago I would be glibly quoting the latest Christian cliche. Well maybe not glibly. Not in these conditions. However the cliche was a given.
But not now. Tragedy has crushed me. My faith lay tattered and torn. I haven’t talked to God in months. Not even when the gunman forced his way into my car.
A metallic click interrupts my thoughts. I feel the barrel of the gun at the base of my neck.
“Do you believe in something beyond infinity?” There’s menace in the timber of his voice.
Memories of Mary flood my mind. Meeting. Courtship. Laughter, dreaming, and planning. Praying together. Our short time as husband and wife.
Everything was so concrete. So solid. So irrefutable. But now it lay like many shards of glass obliterated by a violent blow.
The gun pushes into my skull. “Answer me!”
“Maybe!” I yell back.
Emotions swell.
Hurt.
Anger.
Betrayal.
Hatred.
Blame.
Remorse.
Regret.
Shame … always shame.
“Humph, that’s no answer,” he sounds like a pouting teenager.
“I’m sorry,” I spit out sarcastically, “It’s the best I’ve got.”
I try to settle down but his question has rattled me. I’ve avoided thinking of Mary … of loss … of death … of the beyond for five months. Now it’s literally in my face.
“Okay,” I sigh heavily, “how do you define infinity?”
“Humph! Everyone knows infinity means theres no end. It’s the beyond I’m not sure about.”
He eases the gun away from my head. I slowly breathe out pent up fear.
“So do you or do you not believe there’s something beyond infinity?” His former bravado is diminished.
I can see Mary. She’s happy. Her arms are outstretched toward me.
“Yes, I believe eternity is beyond infinity.”
Hands ten and two. Flex muscles to prevent cramping.
Check.
Cruise control set nine km/h over the posted speed limit. Just enough … not too much.
Check.
Left mirror. Headlights less than a kilometre behind.
Check.
Right mirror. A lone bull in a field.
Check.
Rear view mirror. Black balaclava. Determined dark eyes. Silver revolver.
Check.
Gas gauge. One quarter full.
Check.
RPM gauge. 2500.
Check.
Temperature gauge. In the red.
Check.
Oil pressure gauge. At the bottom.
Check.
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