Posted on Mon 16 May 2016 in Writing

He found himself driving across the prairies—the road stretching as far as the eye could see, undulating as the small rises and dips smoothly rocked the car. He had drifted off, for who knows how long—certainly not him. He was driving south and in the far distance, after where the road disappeared, the mountains rose like waves in a far off storm terrorizing the deep ocean, where no one visited.

The mountains looked like the buildings of his downtown, but with softer edges, where more snow gathered than could be expected of a high-rise.

He was glad to be away from the city; the noise of life there had always buzzed in his head like an insect stuck in the vent of a car heater. He has often wished it would die down, that he would get used to it; but, instead, it continued unabated: pestering his every moment awake—and when he was unlucky, his sleep. He was glad to be away, but the foreign sight of the mountains in the distance made him uneasy.

The rise of the mountains seemed at odds with the flat demeanor of the ground beneath him; the sudden rise evoked a sense of vertigo equaled by his downward high-rise view. The sight made him uncomfortable, yet still, he drove on.

A town crept slowly in to view; it too was as foreign as the mountain ranges that dwarfed it further.

The lull of the road had made him tired. He pulled over at the nearest gas station and purchased a coffee. After returning to the car he continued on, unsure of what he would do next, except drive towards the rocky pillars that lay ahead, beyond the end of the road.