The setting sun turned the sky into a blistering red world. As I drove West I imagined a gigantic fire dead ahead of me, calling me closer to be consumed in the flames. I relaxed, in fact, was ready for the conflagration to suck me in, turn me into toasted crumbs.
With my elbow I was able to push the button to automatically open the left window. Fresh, smokeless air flooded in, fogged the windshield. The wipers wiped for a few minutes and stopped midway in their assigned task. My right foot (on its own) eased off the gas pedal. With no choice, I was forced to pull over to the side of the road and cut the motor. Surely going no less than ninety mph, a bright red Ferrari flew past me. The driver had no interest in me, nor I in him and that was how it was supposed to be. He will be incinerated before I reach my pyre.
It was time for me to go forward. My Jag motor purred. The wind- shield wipers worked again. The sky had turned into a giant navel orange. It’s edge had brown blobs that rose out of sight. They reminded me of decay. I kept a steady pace, 80 mph, a little less than the Ferrari but well over the speed limit here.
San Francisco, the Golden Gate, were coming towards me. My front wheels began to tremor, shake wildly. Cars behind me were no longer there. What magic was happening? Where had they gone? I, and my useless Jag, were alone, balancing on a small piece of isolated road. The Golden Gate Bridge had almost disappeared into the Bay. Only a few bent steel girders stood tall enough to be seen from a helicopter that I heard but couldn’t see, yet he saw me, dipped his wings, flew lower and waved to me. Clearly I saw his door open and a ladder come down towards my car.
I waved back, opened my door. The tiny speck of remaining road beneath me quivered, crumbled. It, I, my car, dropped into the bay.
The red sun’s reflection pulled me under.
I went peacefully to my future home.
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