Highway

You are driving along a long stretch of road. Your car carries the stench of fast food, and your fingers are greasy from grasping at the food from the past hour. The bag of fast food sits in the passenger's side, along with your phone that sits untouched. Your phone continues to light up with [[notifications]], but you keep your eyes on the road. The small clock on the dashboard reads 1:07; the sky is completely black, but this far out you can see all the stars in the sky. It's oddly peaceful, but there is a lingering eerieness to it. The radio seems to bend between radio stations as you drive on; you catch a piece of familiar music each time it does so. The car itself was quite old, and you were used to the radio doing odd things like this. Could you blame the hardware? You are in the middle of no where, and the nearest radio tower is probably miles away. You could put in a CD, but that would require pulling over. As you continue to drive along the open road towards particularly no where, you see a person standing on the side of the dusty road. The person appears to be a female; she has a slender form and medium-length hair. She is holding a hand out, clearly looking for someone to stop. [[Pull over]] [[Keep driving]]

Whatsapp Mom: Where are you? Missed call from Mom Mom: Please pick up [[Look at the road]]

Your foot presses down on the brake gently, and you turn the wheel slightly to place yourself on the edge of the empty road. You pull the handbrake up as you come to a complete stop, and you pick up your phone, placing it into the glove compartment. As the stranger opens the passenger-side door, you put the old bags of fastfood on the floor in front of the chair, feeling embarrassed that someone has seen the absolute mess of your car. The stranger climbs into the car and sits down, closing the door behind them and putting their seatbelt on. Now that you can see the stranger, you are certain she is a woman of Asian-descent. Her skin appears quite pale, but her cheeks are flushed from the cold air. Her black hair is cut neatly at mid-length, reaching her jaw. She doesn't look hurt or in any sort of distress... "Uh," You speak slowly, "Where do you need to get to?" "I'll point it out. It's not too far from here." She speaks; her voice is smooth and delightful, it makes you feel safe. "Right." You reply simply, pushing down the handbrake and driving back onto the road once looking to see that it's safe. The clock on your dashboard reads [[1:13]].

There is an ounce of guilt when you drive past the young woman, and you can feel her head turn as you drive by her and leave her alone on the side of the road. You start to think about whether or not you should've pulled up and given the woman a lift to wherever she was going. What if she was a runaway? What if she was hurt? It's too late to turn back now. As you try to forget about the woman, the radio station you're tuned to begins to crackle slightly. You've driven too far from the radio signals by now. You blindly reach down to the radio, pressing the 'tune' button and switching to the next channel. As you keep your eyes on the road, the same figure comes into view on the side of the road as your full beam touches them. It's the same person. Same slender figure and same hair. There's no mistake, it's the same person, and they're holding their hand out for you to stop. [[Drive faster]] [[Pull over]]

This isn't right. This isn't right. You panic, overwhelmed by the appearance of the woman returning. What the hell was going on? You swallow, pressing your foot down on the accelerator and driving faster. This time, you don't feel bad passing her for the second time. Your heart is beating in your chest wildly, and you feel your body overcome with a cold sweat. She seems to disappear after you drive by her the second time, and you can't seem to keep your foot off the accelerator. You look out for another sign of her on the road; but as your heart beats faster you know that she is definitely gone. What was it? A ghost? A figment of your sleep-deprived mind? You're not sure, and you don't want to find out, either. You feel the ache inside of your chest that tells you to go home. [[Home]]... [[Turn around and go home.]] [[Drive off.]]

What does someone even say in this situation? Would it be awkward to try and make conversation, or would it be rude? Although you're not quite sure, and you mull over your options, you keep your eyes on the road. Your fullbeam extends ahead, illuminating the wide and open road. You hear the gentle crackle of the radio that bends between stations, and you can make out a distinct sound of music coming through the speakers in your car. Sometimes it's a modern track, but other times it's a classic beat from the 80's. You don't listen to music very much anyway, it's just somewhat comforting background noise so you don't stew in silence. [[Remain silent]] [[Why are you out this late?]]

"You're far away from home, aren't you?" Her question suddenly distracts you from your need to remain silent. The wave of awkwardness only grows stronger. [[Home]]. Why would she be asking such a question in the first place? It seems invasive, in a way, and you don't know how to respond to her. It's an innocent question, now that you think about it, or perhaps she is just trying to fill the silence as much as you want to make small talk about the highway. [["I guess you could say that."]] [[Silence.]]

"Long walks at one in the morning with nothing more than a thin cardigan to keep you warm? You sure do have an odd taste in hobbies." You comment somewhat sarcastically, feeding into the need to talk. It has been [[so long]] since you opened your mouth, it almost felt good to feel words coming out. The woman seems amused with your response, "We all have our strange quirks." She looks back at the road ahead. "You can probably relate to that? After all, you're driving at one in the morning... I could've just climbed into the car of a serial killer who kills hitchhikers. Seems I'm lucky you pulled over." You're taken aback by her odd response; the mention of a serial killer that kills hitchhikers. It was an old stereotype, of course. You have a faint memory of the documentaries you watched at home; serial killers finding their victims on the side of the road needing a lift somewhere. It was dangerous, even now. That did beg the question as to why she climbed into your car. [[Ask for her name.]] [[Silence.]]

You ask the question, your voice wavering on awkward and curious. It was a reasonable question after all. Why was a young woman like her out this late on an empty road? She hadn't posed any threat so far, after all, and she appeared empty-handed. "Sometimes when I feel the need, I just like to go on hikes or long walks." She replies simply. You wish to ask //without a coat or any means of transportation?// but you hold your tongue. "Oh." You frown, feeling somewhat unsatisfied with her answer. You adjust your hold on the steering wheel, your hands sliding down the sides as your posture somewhat relaxes. [[Question further]] [[Silence.]]

Home. Where your troubles begin, and where they ended. It's all but a blur to you, but memories stick out. The sound of your mother's comforting voice, and your father's concern for you. Ms. Taylor, the therapist, who tried her best to make the hurting go away... But, she couldn't. You miss home. But, you can't go back. It's best for everyone if you stay away. [[Remain silent]]

"I guess you could say that." Your reply is stiff, awkward and filled with discomfort. You never did enjoy talking about your life, even with a [[therapist.]] "You know that running away from home won't make the pain go away, right?" The woman continued on, turning her head towards you. Her dark eyes seem to be piercing your skull, and you suddenly feel like a deer in the headlights. [[Remain calm]] [[Get angry]]

"You know that running away from home won't make the pain go away, right?" The woman continued on, turning her head towards you. Her dark eyes seem to be piercing your skull, and you suddenly feel like a deer in the headlights. Who the hell was this woman? You didn't know whether to get angry at her and yell at her. It was long overdue, of course, to explode on another innocent person and get all of the heat off of your chest. But, at the same time... This woman hadn't done anything wrong. Sure, she was pissing you off with her [[cryptic bullshit]], but that doesn't mean she deserves the hate you need to unload. [[Remain calm]] [[Get angry]]

"... I know." You respond softly, your voice turning weak and you feel the urge to overshare and spill out your pain. "But, it feels like the [[right thing]] to do. For everyone. And, for me." "To disappear?" She then asks, and you begin to wonder just who the hell stepped into your car. You swallow. "Yeah." "Your [[mother]] is worried about you." //Did she see the notifications on my phone or something? How does she know...?// The mere mention of your mother makes your gut twist, and you feel like you want to be sick. [[Pull over quickly]] [[Listen to her]] [[Respond]]

"I don't need a lecture from some stranger." You snap at her, not daring to look her in the eyes. "It's none of your business." "No, it's not. But, your [[mother]] is worried about you." Her voice is soft, and you feel your gut wrench at the mention of your mother. "Aren't you worried about her? How she feels about her only child leaving home and never returning?" [[Pull over quickly]] [[Listen to her]] [[Respond]]

You miss her. You miss the smell of her hair when you hug her. You miss the way she still treats you like a child, even though you complained about it. You miss her so much.

You pull over; your fingers are tight around the wheel and you feel the surge of anger rushing through your body. You don't know what to do with these emotions, but you want to hurl them at the stranger instead. "Get the //fuck// out of my car." You hiss at her, your voice dripping with poison. The woman doesn't seem to react to this, though, and she merely looks at you like nothing just happened. Whether or not this was frightening was something you couldn't dare to think about; it was unnerving and that's what it was. "Is that what you want? To leave a woman alone on the side of the road at night?" She asks you, tilting her head slightly. Her question seemed more like a challenge. [[Yes.]] [[No.]]

"You should go home. You may have hurt for most of your life, but that doesn't mean that you'll hurt for the rest of it." You allow her to continue speaking, feeling your throat dry up. You feel the urge to sob, the emotions you had tried so hard to bury were coming back. Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and you hear the leather squeak beneath your fingers. "I'm not telling you to forget your sadness and put it to the back of your mind, because I did the same a long time ago," She breathes out slowly, "And, I suffered because of it. You have a chance, though. You can turn around and go back home." [[Pull over quickly]] [[Respond]]

"I don't know if I can go back now." You weakly respond, feeling utterly //pathetic//. It's like you're making excuses. Excuses that even your mother would scoff at. "You can." The woman simply replies, "You can always go back home. The people there will always be waiting for you. You just need to understand that leaving them in Limbo and wondering if you're alive or not will hurt more than telling them how much you're suffering. It is better to speak up rather than be silent." You fall silent for a moment, processing her words. She turns her head back to the road, only before pointing through the windshield. "You can pull up over here." The road is empty still, and the next town is a few miles away yet. But... [[You pull over.]]

"Yes. I won't ask again. //Get out of my car//." Your words are harsh, and you're not even sure if you're saying them anymore. But, you watch as the woman unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the vehicle. As she leaves, she turns to you and smiles. "You should go home. Everyone is worried about you. More than you care to realise." She stands outside the car, "Whatever you wish to do with your life is your own choice... But, you must think of others before you act on those choices." She closes the car door, and walks away from the vehicle. You sit in silence for a few moments, mulling over her words. You lift your head, peering into your rear view mirror to see where she is walking to. But, she's gone. You shiver. You feel [[alone]] all over again, and you feel unsure of yourself. [[Turn around and go home.]] [[Drive off.]]

You pause and feel heat rush to your face. You're embarrassed. You're ashamed. You just snapped at a poor woman for no reason. Even though her [[cryptic bullshit]] was pissing you off, you knew it was no reason to use such vulgar language against her. //What the hell is wrong with me?// "I... No." You stammer, "I... I'm sorry. I don't know--" You stop yourself and groan in frustration. "I'm sorry." Your voice almost sounds like a whine, you are defeated. "It's okay." Her voice is comforting, and you force yourself to look away for a moment to compose yourself. She continues. "I just want to make sure that you're making the right choice." "Whether that choice is to never go home... That is your own. But, you'll have to live with the consequences either way. I hope you find peace... Just know that the pain will ease over time. It eases better with your friends and family around you." She unbuckles her seatbelt and opens up the car door. "You can just leave me here. I'll be okay." You feel guilty -- like you've scared her or driving her away. Just like you've done with everyone else. "I'm sorry." You apologise again. "Don't be." She stands outside the car for a moment, and smiles at you, "I used to be the same. Apologising despite my lack of fault. You will learn to overcome this. Good luck." Before you can respond, she slams the door shut and begins to walk away. You watch her walk from the car in your rear view mirror, and then your stomach churns. She disappears into the darkness. [[Turn around and go home.]] [[Drive off.]]

You give into your urges to return home. With determination, you look through your mirrors and turn your car dangerously. Sure, you're probably breaking a law, but who gives a damn? You just want to go //home.// Even as you turn and begin to make your way back home, you cannot see the mysterious woman in the darkness anymore. Whatever just happened, you don't seem to have an explanation for it, but you realise you can't linger on it for very long. //Mom's not gonna believe me,// you realise belatedly. A smile tugs at your lips at the mention of the woman. //Maybe I really do need a doctor...// For the first time in years, you can't wait to go home.

//It's too late to go back home.// The sadness sinks further into your chest, and down to your gut. Your body feels cold, like you have already died and become a corpse. You can't turn around and go back home. Not now, not ever. Everyone is better off without you. Nobody will miss you when you're gone, and nobody will miss you when you're [[dead.]] Right?

"So... Do you have a name? Or, are we gonna just keep this awkward?" You ask, a small and cheeky smirk tugging at your lips. "Kokoro." Japanese, right? You're not too sure, but you feel it would be rude to ask. You shrug your shoulders, "Pretty name." "I was named after my grandmother." She seems to be speaking conversationally, "And you?" "... It doesn't matter." You brush her off, despite her comforting presence. You're not very comfortable with sharing any details about you or your [[life]], lest she took note of your presence and made it easier for people to find you. [[Silence.]]

You obey. You pull over, but you turn to her questioningly. It's still in the middle of no where, and she wishes to be dropped off here? You are concerned for a moment, but you see her unbuckle her seatbelt. She was being serious. "You will make the right choice." She looks at you, smiling warmly, "Whether that choice is to never go home... That is your own. But, you'll have to live with the consequences either way. I hope you can make that choice." Before you can respond, she climbs out of the car. "Thank you for the ride. Good luck." The door slams shut. You watch her walk away from the car in your rear view mirror, and then your stomach churns. She disappears into the darkness. [[Turn around and go home.]] [[Drive off.]]

A damn long time. The last time you spoke like this was when you were in front of that lovely woman; a counsellor who looked about as concerned as one would with the troubles you spilled to her. You remember the first day you told her your life from start to finish. She said you looked empty. You are //desensitised.// You didn't cry.

Born in a small town in Arizona. The baby of your siblings; born at home on a summer afternoon. The smell of hot skin and milk lingered in the house for months, and nobody forgot your sweet presence. They brought gifts for months after you took your first breath, and everyone loved you. The problems began in high school. Teachers noticed. Friends noticed. Your parents sure as hell noticed. There was nothing they could do; you were born into such a lovely home with loving parents. Your performance at school was spectacular. What the hell could've happened to make you this way? What could've caused the deep, unexplainable sadness? The moment you passed your drivers test and got your first car from your dad, you knew that this night would eventually come. Driving down a dusty road a few hours from home in the middle of no where. You want to die, and you can't bear to tell your [[mother]] that.

Is it, though? What //is// the right thing? Running away? Maybe. You don't know. There is no right thing. There was never a right thing to do when the sadness started; you kept it all to yourself and buried it deep in your mind until the bile burned your insides and you couldn't stop coughing it all up. You were just like a bucket full of water waiting to overflow and topple.

You were always alone.

Who the hell is this woman anyway? You haven't slept in a while. You pulled over to sleep about a day ago, and even then you barely shut your eyes for an hour. Are you finally losing your mind?

What happens after we die, anyway?

Mrs. Taylor, her name was. The soft-looking therapist with dark hair and warm brown eyes; the odd freckle and mole on her face as she spoke to you with utmost ease. She sure did know how to do her job right. She took the weight off your shoulders, and you even found yourself feeling a connection with her. Mrs. Taylor was easy to speak to, and it was always nice hearing about //her// life as well as yours. That was until she had to take time away from her job due to a pregnancy. You had nobody to turn to anymore after that. You almost felt angry at her //baby// for ripping her away from her work; but that was selfish of you to think that. You knew it. After that, it was all downhill.