Long Walk

So I was walking down a road. A long mountain pass. The sun was beating down and the sandstone walls stood towering over me and somehow cast no shadows. I came to a bridge. The chasm was broad and there wasn’t much room on the road. I started jogging. As I proceeded along the bridge, the sweat which had before been dripping slowly down my brow began to flow in harsh rivers. Then I heard a truck in the distance. Approaching. I was nearly halfway across. Suddenly the bridge seemed terribly narrow. My body, which all through this journey had seemed a machine, moving me along invincibly wherever I might command it, suddenly seemed soft and weak, a pale fleshy pulp without form or vigor. Not compared to the monstrous machine beast of steel and fire that would be rounding the corner any second now. My legs were sliding smoothly along the road, spinning my feet over the surface with a speed not before seen. And the beast was bearing down on me. I could feel its hot breath on my back, the deep bass of its growl rumbled deep in my breast. I was nearly there. I could hear the whine of its tires screaming along the black tar. And I was across. The walls here were sheer and vertical. There was no room. The hideous beast chasing me would win. I could see it running me down, crushing me to the ground. I looked back and saw the twin somekestacks belching fire and smoke. I saw the polished metal grill with other unfortunates stuck in its gleaming jaws: dragonflies and butterflies and wasps. I flattened myself against the wall of the canyon. I felt a cool breeze as it blew by me, inches from my nose. I could have reached out and touched it, felt the brushed aluminum siding slip beneath my fingers, felt the raw unflinching power of the beast. And then it was gone. There were many miles left on the road, yet. I was walking down a road.