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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Speed |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard.         Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4632 days Last activity: 4255 days |
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| When you're flying down a country road, there's a huge difference between going thirty miles per hour and going sixty. It might just seem like numbers to you, but the difference is as enormous as the ground you travel. When you thumb down on that throttle, gripping the All Terrain Vehicles' handles and rocketing away, you can feel the wind. The mesh of light and shadows on the dirt road seem to flow like waves to the right, yet you remain undeterred. The trees have character, the smells and sights of the world hit you harder. You experience a sensation overload, and it takes all you have to hold on and feel all the world is trying to give you. The destination is just around the next ten turns, but each minute is one you want to live, one you'll remember.
But sixty miles per hour is a whole different story. Time ticks slower when you're trapped inside the roof and walls of a car, yet the trees fly by faster. You're moving so much faster than on that ATV, yet all you can do is sit and think. Think of the pointlessness, the depression, and the monotony of the life you're going back to. Sure, your friends are beside you, but you know they'll all be leaving soon. Soon enough, instead of seeing them gripping to the cool metal and flying ahead of you, the most you'll see them as is a small little name in the left hand side of the glowing desktop computer monitor. There will be breaks from this where you'll go over their houses and spend time together, but soon enough, they'll be heading back to your screen. At thirty, you can stop on grassy hills and stare at the horizon and talk about meaningful things. You can lose the key to your road home and drop to your knees in the pouring rain and sift through endless fields of grass, trying to find it. You can lose hope when the rain begins to fall, but trudge on from fear. And in a moment of some spiritual connection with a greater being, your eyes can land on that single black spot. At thirty, you can run down the hill, screaming of your miraculous success, and be rewarded with warm, full smiles and hugs and a sense all is right with the world. At sixty, your mind fills with memories of what you left behind when you left it all behind. You remember the fights, the messages, the grueling work, the restless nights, the sunny days on the porch that make you smile but just fly too fast. Your life just flies by at sixty. At thirty, you can stop on the rocky road leading to where your staying, ripping off your helmet and calling out to your friends with joy in your voice. At thirty you can watch the grill heat up and cook burgers and hot dogs in the afternoon, working as a team to make sure everyone ends up satisfied. You can watch scary movies, cuddle with a loved one, and talk about God and religion and dreams at thirty miles per hour. At sixty, you can spot the familiar golden arches of corporate-sponsored satisfaction. You can throw out your hard earned cash to get a greasy yet seemingly delicious pre-made burger with no soul but lots of cholesterol. You can be satiated, but not satisfied. There's no real memories at sixty miles per hour. At thirty, you can creep out at night, actually seeing the stars above you, and being walled in by the deepest dark you've ever seen. You can take a flashlight, but the dark is so powerful only bravery can light the way. You can creep down the road with your loved ones, afraid of murderers and convicts, when you notice fireflies lighting up the field to your right, creating such a beautiful and breathtaking sight that the fear was worth it. At sixty, there's no beautiful sight to contrast the fear. Every night, lying in bed, the racing thought of "Will I die tonight?" passes through you. It never happens, but the fear is always there. Sometimes I wonder why we're always racing to the finish line of life. Why live a life with scarce memories, albeit happy ones? Why can't we take it slow, take it all in at thirty miles per hour, and savor the planet we've been granted? At sixty, it's difficult to hold hands when you're moving too fast to see what's ahead of you. At thirty, each kiss is a golden ring around my finger, each a masterwork painting in the gallery of my mind. Each joke is a gem to cherish and flaunt. Stationary love, loving life and all that comes with it, it just keeps up easier at thirty. Maybe it's time to switch gears. |
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5670 days Last activity: 4935 days |
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| Good prose, I have to say I agree.
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Pockets Werewolf pockets Since: 10-20-04 Since last post: 4874 days Last activity: 4391 days |
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| Good work. I don't own a car but I do own and drive regularly a Motorcycle and
I can say from experience that you're dead on. There really is a big difference between 30 and 60. |
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