Control

It was that late at night.  It was so obvious.  The last straw had been had.  It was over.  Done.  Screw it.  He was ready now, for the last thing, the last time.  It was no longer needed.

So the frost covered the road.  He kept driving.  He kept leaving behind him trails of bread crumbs in the form of skid marks.  But he didn't care.  Not this time.  Not again.  Never again.  Never.

So he drove, faster and faster.  Spinning the steering wheel this way and that.  He took turns too fast, almost flipping the car.  But he always kept hold.  He always managed control.

It was that late at night.  The stars and moon were bright and lit the way.  Headlights off.  No reason to have them on.  Driving in darkness.  The snow began to fall.  He was being followed.

Hours had gone by, his tank was nearing empty.  They would catch him soon.  The moon had gone.  Stars were fading.  Light was creeping into the sky.  Everything around him began to take shape.

He stepped on the gas peddle.  He moved fast.  Faster and faster.  He was running on fumes.  They were going to catch him.  One last turn.  He spun the wheel.  He lost control.