Friction

The little merry-go-round was in its tenth revolution. Around him, the kaleidoscope of images whirled in rapid succession, yet in a paradoxical instance, he could see his heartbeat and the world slow down around him. It is in this moment that he noticed the details he would normally have skipped. Four pine trees, all arranged in increasing height, like a stairway to heaven. Three women in the distance, one with her mouth covered with her hands and eyes staring in disbelief. Two mountains, snow-capped, disinterested and grand, watching down with authority. One man in his car, hands on the steering wheel, with an expression of abject helplessness, serene in the mild realization of what he was witnessing, trying hard to conjure a lifetime of memories as the swish of snow obeyed the laws of physics and promptly gave way. The driver’s dumbstruck, soulless eyes stared back at him through the collapsed rearview mirror. The slight disappointment in his look was hard to miss. He had been duped into believing that the moment of reckoning would be a grand revisiting of his life before. It was anything but that. His parting thought was about deceptions, as he thought about the icy road he was on, and the ravine he would fly into.