Liam Connerly
A Song of Himself Jacob Wright was a man who lived in a castle made of sand. Unfortunately, it was eventually eroded by the tide, washing against the very foundation, grain after grain it became weaker and weaker, closer to falling with each ebb and flow. After he signed all of the paperwork, his castle finally came crumbling down. When this happened, he sold the Dodge Caravan that he drove for ten years and bought a 1973 Chevy Chevelle. It was browned a bit at the corners with rust, where the bumper met the paint, but it didn’t have as many miles on it as he had expected so he figured it would be sufficient. He withdrew the entirety of his life savings from his bank account, and packed up most of the clothes that he owned. …show more content…
He held his breath a lot, actually. When his mind stopped churning and crashing against itself like waves on a cliff face, when his eyes began to droop and his car began to drift towards the rumble strips, he would hold his breath. It was simple; empty the lungs about halfway, then draw in a long, slow breath. Hold it. Hold it. He held it for as long as he could, until his face was blue and his lungs burned and his vision swam, and then he held it a bit longer. Then he would release it like a slingshot and catch his breath, desperately recovering for the deficit he had willingly caused himself. Then he would do it again, and again, until sleep left his mind just as everything else …show more content…
At the end of that week and three days, the sunlight finally came back. When daybreak finally peaked over the horizon, casting the golden red of a new morning across the clouds that moved westward with the wind, he decided to kick his shoes off in a town called Junction. Junction was a three-light town with one motel and a Dollar Tree; he had seen a million of them. In fact, he had been to many towns named Junction, all the same; nothing more than a glorified truckstop. Towns that people always described in the same way: “If you blink, you’ll miss it!” Jacob always hated when people said that. He walked into the lobby of the Junction Motel and was met with a curly haired woman manning the front desk. She looked about forty-five, although in a town like this she was probably in her late thirties. No ring on her finger, and her eyes seemed exhausted and sad. Jacob didn’t look in mirrors anymore, but he imagined her eyes must look a lot like his own. She yawned and stretched before speaking to him. “Hello there, welcome to the Junction Motel. Traveling alone?”
Jacob thought this a strange question to start with, but he answered her nonetheless. “Yes, I am travelling alone.” “And how many nights will you be staying with