amethyst prerogatives.

last nite i had a dream––tell me what this means..

we are high above the hollywood hills, descending aerially through a rarefied landscape of oak groves, cypress, terraced gardens, and rolling acclivities until the dream resolves into an outdoor basketball court more dramatic than any other in the world––as though curated from the empyrean itself..

suspended amidst trees, gardens, and luxuriant hillsides, the court appears almost divinely secluded––a prelapsarian athletic sanctum ensconced high above el ay. the entire mise–en–scène feels theatrically decadent––like a private arcadia curated exclusively for the lakers––far removed from arenas, spectators, commercial spectacle, and the profane world below..

epistemically perched somewhere above the opulent gardens enveloping the court, i find myself contemplating players in the midst of a pickup game––moving freely, casually, ecstatically under open sky..

kobe is there––center stage. then, from out of my peripheral vision, the tall, unmistakable silhouette of lamar odom appears momentarily before evanescing again into the broader tableau. other players drift across the court in loose congregation, their movements relaxed, unguarded, spiritually inebriated, wholly unacquainted with the gravity retroactively saturating the scene..

amidst this scenery, i see myself––or perhaps another disembodied intelligence guiding me––serving as a kind of dreamscape docent: an explanatory, edifying presence quietly directing my friends through a living fragment of history, as though the ordinary succession of time has briefly given way..

look carefully, i whisper. we are somewhere within the final hours before kobe’s death..

the realization doesn't descend upon me with shock so much as a dispassionate, bordering–on–disconsolate clarity. everyone on the court is playing, laughing, moving through the afternoon as though the continuum before them would remain indefinitely intact––while i remain quietly captive to the dark apprehension that we are witnessing not merely the final hours of a man––but the final moments of an entire reality before its irreversible abrogation..

somewhere beyond the hills, beyond the horizon, beyond even the dreamscape's intelligible boundaries, another storm is gathering. i cannot yet see or name it, but its gravity is already permeating everything around us––the court, the players, the perfect lite of the sun, and the blissful serenity of a world utterly unaware of what is about to unfold..

standing there, i can see that the dreamscape has almost conspired toward contrived, theatrical perfection––the surrounding hillsides impossibly verdant, the court unnaturally pristine, the atmosphere suffused with a soft, hallowed stillness––as though creation itself had gone out of its way to preserve one final image of innocence before history descends..

nothing has transpired yet––the players remain in motion, the game continues, the radiant afternoon seems endless..

and yet, somewhere beneath the decadence and frivolity, i can feel the unseen machinations of history have already begun to turn..

the dream offers no further elaboration, no celestial exposition—only the hallowed spectacle of final movements upon a court tucked away in the decadent, rarefied hills of southern california, and the sepulchral intimation of a storm already ascendant somewhere unseen..

LS

then war broke out in heaven.

another hallowed nite in marin has come and gone..

and even as an anaesthetized status–quo seems ascendant here––even as gilded mediocrity prevails the world over––in this liminal moment, i can’t help but feel that we’re on the precipice of something epochal, irreversible..

before dawn, i had a lucid *ay ef* dream (ostensibly facilitated by supraphysiological doses of nascent iodine, copper, and questionable decision–making lolzz)––tell me what this means..

i find myself ensconced deep beneath the earth within an immense subterranean superstructure that somehow serves as the venue for a world cup–like soccer tournament. the entire place feels architecturally supernatural––part subway station, part stadium, part underground playground. thousands of people drift through tunnels and concourses beneath the surface while preparations for a final match unfold all around us..

in the hours preceding the match, i drift through the venue’s cyclopean galleries, wandering among myriad locker rooms arrayed along an apparently infinite circumferential corridor..

in one of these, i encounter a diverse congregation of world cup stars––all donning their countries’ respective uniforms––from different eras, nations and timelines. all of them are preparing for competition––and a nervous expectancy permeates the air..

surveying the scene, my eyes descend sequentially upon neymar standing among friends and then ronaldinho sitting alone in a distant corner of the room. but something is wrong––neither of them is sick or injured. rather, they seem energetically attenuated, diminished––as though their life force has partially withdrawn from them..

neymar appears deeply despondent––on the verge of tears––ostensibly saddened by his fall from grace. ronaldinho’s trademark long, cascading hair has turned eerily white and gossamer. both of them are like spectral simulacra of their former selves, as though they have endured private catastrophes of which the public remains wholly unaware..

a friend notices my palpable concern and quietly pulls me aside, relating to me that everyone sees what i see. yet an unspoken consensus prevails throughout the room––that despite their evident physical and spiritual diminishment, the match remains..

eventually we make our way onto the field. from this novel vantage, the stadium reveals itself in full––unfolding on a leviathan scale, vast enough to contain an entire world..

at the same moment, i cast off some kind of sartorial encumbrance that has been hindering me––a handkerchief concealing part of my neck maybe? the details are hazy. whatever it is, removing it leaves me feeling lighter, less constrained, free(r)..

at the outset of the match, i find myself lingering proximate to one of the corner flags. immediately adjacent to the field is a dark, somewhat ominous exit leading into a concrete stairwell ascending to the surface. i am struck by the peculiarity of my position––one step places me upon the pitch, another at the threshold of a dramatic staircase leading out, above, beyond. i am neither fully in the game nor fully outside of it––precariously existentially suspended between two mutually exclusive, competing realities..

a strange stillness descends upon the arena as the crowd, players continue moving, preparing. yet beneath the surface of appearances, i sense that something has already begun..

among the players, i see a girl i used to know in life––or maybe someone bearing her physiognomy. i motion for her to come closer..

i think today might be the day, I murmur softly, as though giving voice to a possibility already hanging silently between us. if anything happens, come find me..

she nods in agreement as she turns her back to me..

no sooner have the words left my mouth than a figure passes through my peripheral vision near the sideline, gesturing casually toward the exit. at first there appears to be nothing unusual about him. then i notice his eyes––his pupils dilating dramatically into pools of impossible darkness as his gaze empties of life..

i already know––the music is about to stop. there would be no warning period––no opportunity to sway anyone..

i immediately signal to her..

without hesitation we abscond toward the exit and begin ascending an improbable, seemingly infinite staircase toward the world above. somewhere below us, the match, the crowd, the nations, and the spectacle continue preparing for a contest whose outcome no longer matters. the game was over before it even began..

eventually the staircase empties into the entrance hall of a station at street level. approaching one of the station’s doors, i strain against its immense weight until it grudgingly yields a few inches, allowing me to peer through the narrow aperture beyond..

standing sentinel outside the threshold is a zombie donning the uniform of a transit worker. the sight unsettles me––the infection has reached the very people entrusted with guiding others..

even though i am careful, the creature notices me immediately––its eyes locking onto me as it begins lurching toward us..

between us stands only a heavy, cast–iron door and a few fleeting seconds. beyond, the world seems suspended in a final inhalation, as though all of creation has paused upon the verge of remembering something past and long forgotten..

and for one liminal moment, i find myself staring into that narrow space between concealment and revelation..

with a single saccade of my pulsing, hazel eyes, my mise–en–scène begins to glitch, fragment, unravel as my dreamscape collapses and i am recalled back to the cypress–lined confines of rarefied suburbia..

LS

the young shall inherit the earth.

once upon a time i had a dream––tell me what this means..

i find myself among a select cadre of preternaturally gifted young people competing within a vast, multilayered racecourse suspended somewhere between amusement park, proving ground, and celestial infrastructure. the entire superstructure unfolds mythically across amethyst skies à la mario cart––its myriad luminous tracks spiraling through clouds emanating purple lite, diverging into increasingly elevated tiers, each level carrying participants farther from the world below..

competition is fierce, yet also surreally effortless. a small nucleus of us continually emerges at the forefront of every heat, ascending level after level while others gradually fall away as background characters. the women around us are attractive ay ef––and my male friends carry themselves with a confidence and competence i find myself cautiously matching, even eclipsing..

there is a pervasive awareness among us that we have all been divinely curated for something––though none of us yet understands precisely what that ‘thing’ is..

eventually the course converges upon a final proving station unlike any before it..

there, positioned at the terminus of the uppermost tier, stands a narrow staircase rising into open sky. beyond it hangs no bridge, no platform, no visible destination––only atmosphere, magik and lite..

myriad competitors gather at this threshold and stop in a state of quiet, appraising abeyance..

some competitors evaluate the staircase briefly before retreating. others linger at its base in a despondent daze, as though contemplating an existential endgame no longer accessible to them––their prior accomplishments, however awesome, suddenly and retroactively rendered provincial in light of the new threshold before them..

yet a smaller contingent––mine––remains..

the clouds possess an unusual luminosity and drift in immense continental formations beyond the staircase. occasionally figures emerge from among them at the summit, the proximate sky’s amethyst hues shimmering faintly as they materialize. they descend toward us with expressions of quiet amusement, as though returning from personalized vacations––their countenances bearing the unmistakable energy of divinity and play..

i perceive not even the faintest semblance of supercilious triumph in them. no urgency. no desire to impress––only an undercurrent of childlike delight..

as they circulate among those of us still awaiting admission, fragments of their excursions begin to emerge. one describes how the clouds themselves serve as sustenance there––that portions may be torn away and consumed, whereupon vapor assumes the flavor and substance of whatever food one desires..

others relate stranger amusements. from time to time, they explain, inhabitants of the higher realms conceal numerologies and coded messages within films, events, and cultural artifacts unfolding in the world below––small acts of angelic mischief occasionally detected by only the most spiritually precocious. more often than not, however, these messages pass unnoticed, dissolving into the background noise of ordinary life..

they relate these stories so casually, almost irreverently, leaving the distinct impression that whatever lies beyond the staircase is governed less by solemnity than wonder––less by spiritual judgment than play..

eventually the flow of returning travelers diminishes, leaving the staircase vacant..

for the first time in my life, i realize there is nothing left between myself and whatever lies beyond..

i ascend the staircase as the racetracks, competitors, and my friends begin to recede into a backstory of my awareness. they now feel strangely distant, as though already consigned to another chapter of my life..

for a brief moment i linger at the threshold before stepping into open air..

i brace myself as gravity takes hold momentarily––only to relinquish me almost immediately..

the entire scene below me continues to recede both spatially and ontologically as i ascend. above me the cloud continents part slightly, revealing vast aureate structures suspended at impossible elevation––their outlines resolving into pure lite against the horizon..

and just as the first contours of the empyrean begin to emerge through the clouds ahead, reality itself suffers a kind of structural failure––its scaffolding and convolutions and myriad impossible colors flickering, glitching, evanescing as God collapses me back into hypnopompia..

LS

in the twinkling of an eye.

last nite i had a dream—tell me what this means..

i find myself alone in a high–rise apartment, standing proximately adjacent to an antiquated wall heater––a dormant industrial relic––affixed to and extending laterally across the room’s northernmost wall. outside, a zombie invasion has overtaken the earth––all of society fallen, infected, spiritually inebriated, consumed by something feral, contagious. i turn an arbitrary dial counter–clockwise and strike a fractured match..

i light the pilot, and a liminal moment of silence seems to span eons before fire finally catches..

behind the heater’s metal grating, darkness gives way to incipient incandescence, and fire surges violently to life as the entire expanse of the heater––and perhaps something else––is coaxed awake. nauseating heat billows outward into the room almost ceremonially, as though i am initiating not mere warmth but some volatile force long held dormant. i stand there entranced, contemplating the ignition unfold with strange reverence, aware that something deep, atavistic has just been set into motion..

then my vantage evanesces––shifts..

i find myself perambulating a sprawling indoor mall superstructure––cathedral–scale, labyrinthine, seemingly endless in its fluorescent expanse––alongside a small cadre of survivors, navigating cyclopean corridors somewhere in the despondent aftermath of collapse. together we hunt the infected using improvisational weapons––knives, spiked bats, fragments of a fallen world repurposed for survival..

in spite of everything, there is adrenaline, even a tinge of exhilaration in the air amidst the (now deescalating) peril. from somewhere behind me, the words hold the line echo like some post–apocalyptic refrain..

we move with sharpened instinct, clearing the mall sector by sector as though engaged in some final purification rite of passage..

eventually, silence descends upon the mall. i can feel the collective begin to believe––albeit subliminally––that we have eliminated the last of the infected. yet i remain uneasy, drifting through neglected recesses and peripheral corners with lingering vigilance, searching for residual traces of contamination..

not long after, i come across a cluster of garbage cans gathered tightly together in a dim corner of the mall. something in me knows reflexively, immediately. i approach cautiously and tap one of the containers almost ritually with my weapon..

instantly, a final zombie erupts outward from concealment..

i neutralize it quickly––the last residual enemy of our cleanup mission..

we begin to celebrate as relief washes over the group. i stand there in a kind of daze, my immediate milieu gradually receding into a bleary backstory of my awareness as i panoramically contemplate the survivors, the corpses, the fluorescent debris of collapse––and all the strange, violent, beautiful things catastrophe reveals..

then suddenly, realization descends upon me with almost ontological force––i left my fire burning back ‘home’..

somewhere in the distance––half–veiled by darkness and dream––my high–rise apartment glows faintly against the nite skyline, its silhouette delicately adumbrated in fire, beautifully aflame––not catastrophic, not devastating, not yet..

and in the twinkling of an eye, my entire scenery begins to flicker, recede, evanesce––my gaze remaining reverently transfixed upon the fire of God as i descend into hypnopompia..

lachrymal liminality.

once upon a time i had a dream––tell me what this means..

i’m moving through a street at dusk, trailing an indian man i don’t know but implicitly distrust. he vaults across city blocks with quiet certainty, as though he’s apprised of, attuned to a geometry i haven’t yet learned. then, almost imperceptibly, he slips through a seam in the city––a concealed passageway i would have missed entirely had i not been studying, appraising him so closely..

and before the aperture can close, i pass through after him..

the corridor is nauseatingly narrow, pressing in on both sides kinda like that one (dream) sequence in inception as it descends via a steep, dim stairwell––an infrastructural incursion beneath the visible world. i press onward as the city above me recedes both spatially and ontologically..

arriving, i find myself in a vast, dark, cement–reinforced hangar––cathedral–scale, subterranean––alongside high school and college friends. i drift through its advanced facilities, eventually opting to shower via extremely filtered water in a high–end spa, then lingering in adjoining recreation spaces––adorned with seemingly curated twenty–something women (as though vetted for aesthetic coherence), and other strangers familiar..

at some point after, my friends and i find ourselves stationed beside a doorway leading into a long, sterile corridor, an elevator waiting at its terminal––and we’re being interrogated about a crime. something in me––irrational, almost devotional––impels me to surrender, submitting to arraignment on charges i know to be fraudulent..

a security guard derides me hyperbolically––almost theatrically––mocking my evanescent six–pack (LIES lolzz) as he cuffs me. he escorts me down the corridor and into an elevator, and in that quiet descent one cuff slips cleanly from my wrist––effortless, almost preordained..

it dawns on me all at once that he was acting: i wasn’t actually ‘arrested’––i was being tested. the pressure dissolves instantly––and i am overcome with relief, immediate, absolute..

descending to one of the hangar’s restricted floors, we are greeted by a select group of military personnel who begin to delineate a far more expansive operation––the systematic dismantling of a global, transnational, trans–generational crime syndicate. i’m spiritually awestruck, yet intellectually unsurprised, to discover that ‘black hats’ were long ago apprehended, convicted for their crimes against humanity––their myriad cells scattered around us like constellations of consequence..

their leader––calm, almost benevolent––affirms what i already intuitively know: that all public figures ‘out there’––leaders, CEOs, celebrities, et al––are actors in masx, and that ‘white hats’ are sustaining a prolonged, deliberate spectacle designed to gradually coax the public awake. and everything the public is seeing ‘out there’ in the matrix is nothing but theatre––all of it..

before departing, he leaves me with a final assignment: one last, preeminent bad actor remains at large––and that i need to find, apprehend him..

he wishes me luck with a warm, knowing smile––his kind eyes dissolving into a bleary backstory of my awareness as i descend into hypnopompia..

somatogravic prerogatives.

once upon a time i had a dream—tell me what this means..

i find myself within a totally circumscribed, walled–off city dreamscape—sealed off from the broader world by an immense barrier rising intimidatingly at its peripheral boundaries. our only means of passage to the other side is an extraordinarily perilous contrivance––a kind of electrified zip line superstructure suspended thousands of feet in the air, at points ascending in near–vertical trajectory, navigable only by the fucking insane..

a ‘friend’ and i apprehensively elect to mount it, leaving the safety of familiar grounds in our wake..

we ascend into the sky, suspended in appalling elevation above the city below. the entire line feels excruciatingly precarious, provisional––liable to collapse at any moment. yet throughout my ascent, my chief preoccupation is not bodily harm but the fear that my brand new lavender eye phone might slip from grasp and vanish into the depths below..

i clutch it with inexplicably tenuous care, holding it in a manner wholly at odds with my obsessive anxiety––as i am absurdly and neurotically preoccupied with not losing it to the abyss lolzz..

suddenly, without warning—as if borne of my own fears––the metal mechanism by which i am suspended from the line gives way––and i am cast downward into the depths below, my entire body reflexively bracing for imminent death..

yet by (implied) divine providence, at that exact moment, we are passing above the parapet of an immense gothic rooftop, and so i fall only a short way—maybe seven, ten feet––landing somewhat athletically, acrobatically onto the slate tiles below..

when i strike the rooftop, one of its tiles gives way slightly beneath me, almost as though it was left loose by my higher self in anticipation of my arrival. collecting myself and surveying my environs, i espy the broken apparatus that moments earlier bore my weight, now shattered upon the rooftop with almost ceremonial vividness..

my friend, lingering upon the line slightly longer, soon descends upon the rooftop as well, though not immediately proximate to me. for the briefest of moments, we converge there in a kind of breathless communion before pressing onward..

it becomes immediately clear to me that the zip line is no longer necessary––and that wherever i must now go must be reached via other means..

together we set out across the high and treacherous parapets, proceeding by our own steps through an elevated and perilous cityscape..

and then, somewhat ethereally, my vantage recedes into that of a distant, omniscient witness. i see us from afar––two small silhouettes quietly navigating the abandoned heights of a sealed world beneath a dreary, frigid skyscape, sustained now not by sight or machinery but faith alone..

and as i evaluate us vaulting with elfin agility across the city skyline––with bated breath and melancholy heart––the dream dissolves irreverently into hypnopompia..

angel of death.

three nites ago, under the full pink moon, i had another lucid dream––tell me what this means…

i find myself suspended within a rarefied, almost utopian vertical space––a multi–tiered climbing academy of such staggering opulence that it transcends the genre of ‘gym’ altogether––converging on something else entirely, like a private, world–class sanctum of athletic ascendance, reserved for an exalted and vanishingly select echelon. every surface gleams with intention––every line of architecture suggests excess and neurotic precision––as though cost became laughingly irrelevant forever ago..

from the highest floor i occupy a position borne not of exertion, but of quiet, appraising dominion––perched somewhere in the superstructure’s empyrean, at a balcony vantage overlooking the ascent of others, and beyond that, the skyline of an adjacent city dissolving softly into light..

through a vast aperture in the structure, a sheer rock face rises––part natural, geogenic formation, part contrived, anthropogenic construct––a vertical proving ground where climbers test themselves against curated peril. among these athletes, i make out the distinct physiognomy and aura of tom cruise, ascending with effortless precision, ostensibly untouched by the contingencies that bind ordinary anatomies. though he is accompanied by a safety harness, he does not rely on it––his discipline appears total, almost preeminent..

he reaches the summit––my level––and rather than dismounting onto the adjacent platform, he remains suspended in a state of poised stillness. his climb complete, his purpose apparently dissolved, he lingers there in a state of quiet abeyance, tethered yet inactive––as if the culmination itself has emptied the act of meaning..

my attention drifts––the space grows diffuse, liminal, briefly populated by other figures, then emptied. i return to the balcony under the impression of solitude, only to realize that he never left. he is still there, suspended, resting within the tension of his own apparatus, his legs wrapped tightly around his rope..

then, not long after, his voice––intimate, unguarded, vulnerable––rises with a strange, pensive clarity: ‘i love you, kelly’..

and immediately after that utterance, i hear the sound of release––the tension of his harness giving way, lines slackening, a body falling..

moments later, the finality of impact––the most horrific thud i have ever heard––echoes upward from a distant, cold mezzanine..

i stand there, suspended in uncertainty, not of what happened––but of why. was it a failure of attention––a fleeting lapse in an otherwise perfect system..

or was it a deliberate, quiet, unannounced decision to let go. self–erasure..

the dream offers no answer––only the sepulchral echo of his body within hallowed, opulent confines, and an existential purgatory renascent..

aureate abrogation.

fourteen years ago, somewhere in the early spring of twenty twelve, i had the exact same recurring dream four, maybe five times in the same month..

since twenty twenty one, i’ve found myself increasingly retrospectively wondering whether the physical spikes of that first sequence, stark along the shoreline, were a prophetic prefiguration––auguring the pathogenic spikes that would be deployed on billions nine years later..

i’m positioned aerially along the belvedere coastline, my viewport dimmed beneath a heavy, overcast sky. the water lies flat, argentine––the circumambient air carrying a disconsolate stillness..

then, suddenly, the view shifts, almost violently, as if the scene is being torn open—and i make out myriad spikes lining the rocky shore..

at first they register only as structures––but as i draw nearer, the image resolves with a kind of unwilling clarity. they are not empty..

i realize instantly that the severed heads of friends, family are pierced upon them––bloodied, suspended, unmistakable. this mise–en–scène lingers cruelly, forcing recognition where one would prefer abstraction..

the first face that comes into focus is that of my former dentist––unexpected, but somehow marked as the beginning. almost like the first domino in a chain whose consequences only time could reveal in earnest..

others follow, implied if not fully seen, until the coastline itself feels consecrated by this silent procession..

and then, without rupture, the scene lifts..

i am positioned aerially again, looking out onto the skyline of the city. the skycape has shifted chromatically now––imbued with pastel, amethyst hues, bruised, luminous against the horizon..

the golden gate bridge lies utterly collapsed––its scaffolding shattered, its span undone. from its wake, a bloom of smoke unfurls into the night sky––the violence that birthed it already receding, leaving only residue behind..

the city stands beyond it, intact, distant, while the passage that once connected everything lies broken beneath the same sky..

and before i can cry out for celestial exposition, i awaken..

vertiginous vespers.

two nights ago i had a dream––tell me what this means..

i find myself navigating a diversified, alpine landscape––mountains, forested paths, and steep ridgelines unfolding like a vast and wandering obstacle course. the terrain demands effort at every turn, and the movement is difficult––but the usual friction that arrests me in such dreams is strangely absent. i am largely physically, acrobatically ‘succeeding’––surreally bereft of the nauseating spiritual or existential encumbrances that tend to saturate my default dream psyche..

at one point the path leads through a quiet forested slope. there, adjacent to the trail, i come across the corpse of a panther ensconced in a body bag––and affixed to the bag is a handwritten tag bearing my own name ‘lucas’..

i pause, struck by the unsettling intimacy and implications of this mise–en–scène––wondering if some part of me has maybe been laid to rest along the path?

the terrain mutates slightly, and the forest begins to thin as the mountain rises sharply before me. i make my way up a long acclivity that gradually steepens into a rock face i must climb..

before pressing onward, i glance back—and there i see another panther, this one alive, standing somewhere proximate to the bag..

it evaluates me pensively, sovereign, composed––neither approaching nor threatening..

and its presence feels somehow connected to the fallen one behind it, as though it has come to bear silent witness..

i continue my ascension––and ahead of me another silhouette is proceeding up the mountain path, already negotiating the terrain that awaits me..

the slope grows steeper until at last the path opens onto a high plateau along the mountainside. the ascent softens there, and the landscape widens outward—though strangely the terrain now takes on an urban character, resembling the rooftop of an immense parking structure suspended improbably amidst the mountains..

as i step onto this strange rooftop expanse, i notice an escalator positioned at its center, descending downward––a quiet anthropogenic passage standing incongruously within the alpine heights, its presence carrying a curious sense of reprieve..

i approach and pause at its threshold, apprehensively poised to step onto it and begin my descent..

and in that suspended moment––between effort and surrender, between ascent and return––with a single saccade of my pulsing eyes, the dream ends..

aureate anamnesis.

last week i had a dream––tell me what this means..

it’s sometime after midnite, and i find myself perambulating the golden gate bridge alongside my parents. we are somehow upon a hidden arc of the span––a tight, ostensibly geometrically impossible J curvature we have never been permitted to traverse before, merging into the straight expanse of the bridge. we navigate the arc in quiet wonder..

when it is time to exit scene, i become aware of another presence moving at the periphery of my vision. at first i mistake him for a reflection of myself somehow displaced into physical space, but then realization strikes with sudden clarity: he is me––my twin. donning red tapered pants and distressed sweater, he abruptly departs from me, while remaining bound to me energetically by a faint tether of light. he slips irreverently into a stygian vehicle, strikes ignition, and pulls away with sudden urgency..

yet when he has traveled scarcely seventeen feet, the car erupts violently, emanating a fiery explosion against the aureate nite sky..

i am overcome with shock and apprehension—yet at the same time i carry a strange certainty that he is alive. i rush toward him reflexively, wrench open the car door, and smother the circumambient fire with my bare hands. he steps free from the wreckage, singed, distraught, disconsolate, but whole..

nearby, someone—perhaps a relative—moves to place a call, to explicate or escalate what has transpired, and i stop them..

maybe the moment required only empathy, not exposition..