[ CW ] Kill the writer in first-person narrative .

The road is thin. The new moon doesn ’ t help the black asphalt seem any clearer. I grab the red bull from the console to find its empty. The dotted yellow lines are starting to blur into one, but I promised I ’ d be there in the morning. I see her in my mind, crying from when I left. Mascara streaking, asking me why. And I didn ’ t know why, I still don ’ t know why I do it. I threw the pipe out when I got in the car last night, but I ’ d thrown it away so many times. They ’ d paid for rehab already, and I ’ d skipped out. But they gave me another chance and I ’ m going to be there this time. I ’ m going to go home afterwards and say, “ Hey mom, I ’ m clean, I ’ m not like him anymore. ” But I said that last time, and the time before….but I ’ ll change, I promise. I reach for another red bull from passenger seat. I just have to make it there. I grab it but it slips from my hand onto the floorboard. The road seems straight for a while. I can reach down and get. I take a glance and the road and pat around on the floorboard. I can ’ t find it. The car starts to rumble, I jerk up. Half my car is off, I throw my wheel hard left. I flip.
