a human. for now.
I’m watching the clock count down. Any minute my head is going to explode. The headrest will probably prevent most of my brains from landing in the backseat. With all that leg room that would be the optimal resting spot for soaring brain matter. It’s hard to drive when your head wants to blow up. Every note on the radio is like a chainsaw to my skull. It’s kind of unpleasant.
The Phantom hiked down the deserted road shoving his hands in the open wounds on his arms.
“No. You’re ticklish.”
The Phantom was enjoying the companionship of his new flesh wounds.
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“Fine. I’ll ask.”
He called out to the universe, “Can someone give us a ride?”
The Phantom waited. No one arrived. He stuck out his thumb.
“You guys are so far away now.”
He looked deep into his wounds.
“I know. It’s lonely out here. Sometimes I feel a fire in my stomach, and I don’t know why.”
The Phantom lit a match and swallowed it.
He put his ear up to his wounds. He looked again at them and shook his head in confusion.
“So, where you heading?” She was covered in blood with a soft spot for hitchhikers.
I suppose my eyes would be the first to exit my head. I wonder what that would be like. What would be the last image sent to my brain before complete darkness? Does that image become a work of art in the afterlife? Will future passengers in my car find pieces of the image when they mistakenly pick up bits of my brain while retrieving a stray french fry off the floor?