The power of the threaded four wheels propelled her rapidly down the city streets, and left the light flooding from the street lamps blurring behind them into the darkness.
She let her bare foot slowly fall down on to the gas pedal, which made the car gradually speed up on the cool autumn pavement—and as the wheels spun, the car flew forward, and her heart pounded at a heightened pace.
Her hand rose to clutch her chest as if it were trying to catch the throbbing muscle before it leapt out of her body. She began to take a few deep breaths to slow the rhythm’s pace and, as she exhaled to release the carbon dioxide from her lungs into the frigid air, a breathy-whisper followed with a question.
Are you ready?
“Ready for what,” the driver said.
Are you ready?
“I’m not sure what you are asking,” the driver said frustrated. “Am I ready for what?”
A silence ensued after the driver’s curious question. It was in fact a curious question because the driver, in fact, knew the answer of what she was asking, but the thought of her entire world closing in on her, slowly squeezing the life out of her lungs and rattling her bones was unnerving.
It was, however, going to happen whether she wanted to or not. The air was changing, the earth was shifting, and she had to be ready whether wanted to be or not.
Jazzed About Stuff 