Crunch

"I don't care what you're trying to tell me! This is over with, ok? No more. Done. Finished. Ended. Over!" Jack was fed up at this point. One mistake in a debate tournament was not a reason to discuss it for two hours after the contest.

- I wish he would just stop - thought Jack. - Tony is completely obsessive over these tiny details. It doesn't matter. -

Jack threw the cell phone into the backseat of his Mustang.

The road stretched out far into the distance, book ended by endless shopping malls on the New Jersey highway. Jack didn't care anymore. He doubled the volume on his indie-rock mix tape and drove on. The traffic was starting to build up.

- 4:30 already? I gotta get home. -

Jack zoomed over into the far left lane against the objection of his fellow travelers. Shifting gears, the car soared. 55...65...75...He didn't care as long as he got home.

His exit was coming up. Jack swerved his way into the off ramp, inciting a chorus of angry motorists. Down the hill he went, steadily reducing, slowing his speed.

The voices of his successful opponents still rang through his head, mocking him with their enthusiasm, their eagerness. A sharp turn - a narrow miss.

- Gotta pay more attention - thought Jack. - It's over, anyway. -

The car squealed through the streets of his hometown, still raging over the pavement. Words flooded his mind, other options in the competition.

- Too late now - he thought.

An open intersection - a red light.

- And who cares, anyway?-

The sun set fast on the brisk October day. Trees leaned towards the asphalt, heavy with yellowed leaves in the neighboring forest.

Jack could still rewind the earlier competition. The yellow ledger pads, the orange highlighters, the red pens, all scratching together in an intense chorus of conjectures. He sped up. 25...35...45. The time ticked down. 8...7...6. Words flew fast and furious from the speakers' mouths, clearly articulating point after point. Ever increasing, fighting the timer. An endless shower of ideas and research, floating down onto the cold floor.

The leaves crackled as Jack rode by.

- No one cares. No one. -

Winding through the sharp turns in the town, he still felt it. Pages, pens, paper, post-its - all on his hands. Flipping through, searching for cohesion. Searching for words. Searching for luck.

The phone rang in the backseat. Jack reached back but couldn't feel its metallic body. The car swerved as he turned around to look for its resting place.

He was practically on autopilot as he ran through his speech. Quotations - rehearsed, points - outlined. Everything set to go.

- Who is calling me? -

Jack was set to win.

- Why is he calling again? -

He could see their eyes light up when he said it.

Jack opened the phone: "What do you want? I'm trying to ge...oh shit;"

The car smashed through the roadside barricade. Digging into a bump, it flipped over, sliding through the underbrush of the neighborhood.

Jack never saw it coming.

"Stuff."

He launched the door open and jumped from the ever damaging wreckage of his Mustang.

Vagueness always opens a situation for victory.

Cut and bruised, Jack watched his car tumble down the slope by his house. He saw the books fly from the open door, the glass shatter over yellow pads and orange leaves.

The last thing Jack remembered was the sound of the car as it smashed into the rock.

Crunch.