Highway to . . .

I walk A L O N E.

It is such a sweltering, humid day.  This must be Las Vegas with humidity.  I'm drenched in sweat.  People pop up in front of me as I walk.  They all talk with their spouses and children.  They laugh, enjoying one another's company.  The spouses kiss.

I walk A L O N E.

I see old high school students I used to know.  They, too, laugh with boy/girlfriends.  I never had one.  I walk alone.  I walk past an abandoned skyscraper.  Pale leaves rustle past, pushed by the slight gale that springs up.  The sun shines harshly, yet goose bumps arise on my bare arms and legs.  I sweat more.  It freezes on my face, stinging me.

I walk A L O N E.

I realize the pale leaves are pages from a book I never wrote.  A book I never published.  A book that was just a fragment of the imagination, but was then ripped to shreds by reality.  As I realise this, I realise that I am again alone.

I WALK A L O N E.

A mountain rises up in front of me.  It, too, is pale and oddly shaped.  It is a mountain of books. I see broken cameras and other electronic devices mixed among the books like trees and shrubs.  When I realise this, the mountain ignites.

I lope through the mountan of burning books and knick-knacks, fearing the flames.  I feel the intense heat, but I don't burn.  The flames lick my body, warming me, yet the breeze still keeps me chilly.  Sweat drips off my shivering, shaking body.

I walk A L O N E.

I'm on the other side of the mountain.  Wails of misery and tortured screams carry to my ears, causing me to jump.  I see whole armies being massacred, murdered, shot, blown up, and crushed.  I hear the pitiful howls from the families of those soldiers' families.  I see the newly parentless children crying.  I see the newly widowed husbands and wives, howling with their families, begging for another day with their spouse alive.

I walk A L O N E.

I see orphaned children hiding, too scared to even cry, for fear they, too, will meet the same fate as parents, friends, brothers and sisters.

As I walk alone, I too, cry.  At last, I come to the end of my road, where I see a golden bowl full of water.  I try to take a drink, and it evaporates.  I look in the bowl.  The water reappears.  I look at my reflection.  All I see is a dirty, grubby, despised man.  There is anguish and greed carved into the features of his face.

I look into the sky, sensing the sun being completely covered by more than a cloud.  All is dark.  From behind me, I sense a presence.  I turn, and see a light.  A light brighter than the sun.  I see it, then my eyes close, and I am senseless.