Fibre

Carlos wiped the clouds away from his eyes. Thin whisky things that burned with a brightness he knew must be imbued from the sun. Or was it simply the alcohol? It was fucking bright all of that anyway. So bright it ate away at his intentions for accomplishing better things for that day. It consumed and decimated them. “Damnit”, he thought as he careened further down the highway. The vapors were so thick they formed like cotton, like fibrous worms seeking the center of his head. He might as well have become a living doll, bound and dumb. Cocooned and pinning for a cool dark place. He swerved and caught himself again. He tried to keep level with the cool stare he knew was directed at him from the rear view of the pickup in front. “Keep it steady man” he murmured to himself, “don’t fuck this up.”

And then, of course he did just that.  He fucked it up badly, the results had him careening down the side of the embankment bones bouncing so violently that he could hear their clacking even over the protests of the old shock pads.  He rolled the truck once, twice and finally another half… winding up entirely upside-down with a last resounding smack.  Silence then as the truck rested in this unplanned pit of a stop.  “Uggggggggg, mmmfuffle shriiiiis,” slipped from his mouth in s slow foreign tongue.  Carlos’ seatbelt steadfastly held him in place, perhaps the only item in his life that had that innate ability.  He moaned some more.  The fibrous clouds closed back upon him, hot and throbbing now as if gearing up for a feast.