Doppelgänger
Your car stalls on the way up the mountain. You forget what you were driving here for. The thought of turning back might give you comfort, but something in the back of your mind tells you you're too far gone.
You see nothing but eddies of ice and snow drifting past your car headlights. It's getting colder, and the light is fading. There's nothing but darkness in all directions. You swear you can hear voices in the distance, or is it the wind howling?
You try starting the car, but the engine sputters again. The cold reaches your spine. You turn the key again.
Again.
The sound of metal grinding. Then nothing. The silence that follows weighs heavy on you.
The snow falls in thick layers, swallowing everything around you in silence.
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Nothing drowns out the voice your thoughts have given life to. Nothing to do but remember. ...
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You swear you see figures in the distance. The whispers are louder now, distinct—though still far off—like they're carried on the wind. You hear words, weaving in and out of comprehension.
You stare into the dark, trying to make out shapes, but the headlights, now dimming, can't cut through the storm.
You can’t remember the last time you saw another car. Or anyone else's face.
The voices are closer now, too close. A thud. Then another. Something at the edge of your vision—was it just a trick of the light.?
You grip the wheel tighter, but your fingers feel numb. Your breath fogs up the glass. Every movement seems too loud, too wrong. The scraping of feet, just beside you. A voice, small, but so near you can feel its breath on your ears. The night seems vast. Empty. ...
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I wish I was home.
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There is no peace in the ending of all feeling.
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There is no absolution waiting in the silence.
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Just a face not unlike mine, hovering over yours
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I hope it hurts in the end.
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