[ WP ] Write a normal-sounding story , but slowly turn it from normal to completely batshit insane .

She says I need to find a way to relax. I can ’ t relax. 
 
 I don ’ t want to relax. I want to be exhilarated. So I decide to take a ride. 
 
 I finish my tea. I grab my helmet, jacket, keys, and slip out the door quietly. She ’ ll tell me to stay home, to relax. I won ’ t. I can ’ t. I start the bike; it ’ s loud. New pipes, I just put them on the other day. They sound good. She hears it, I ’ m sure. I leave. 
 
 I drive down to the coast, a quick ride this time of the day. The roads are almost empty. It ’ s evening, almost dusk. I need to stop for gas. The cashier is beautiful. She could be a model, or an actress. She ’ s a cashier. She ’ s looking at me strangely. Is it my turn to talk? I thank her, and I ride East. 
 
 My demons follow; I ride to leave them behind. It ’ s just beginning to get dark, but it ’ s still summer. Tourists line the beach, drinking beer from coolers and watching the sun set and holding hands and relaxing. It looks like hell. 
 
 I want only to live now, free of yesterday and tomorrow. I ride and live in the first person, present tense, oblivious. I have not ridden; I will not be riding. I ride. The familiar, pleasant wind brushes my face and the tips of my fingers, reassuring. I check my mirrors, but the demons remain. They look angry, and they ride fast. 
 
 It is dark now. My high beams illuminate the mangled forests to the sides of the road. The trees bend in unison, reliving a trauma more than a decade old. Their shadows melt into one another, shifting as I pass, memories of a time and place I leave behind. I did not leave them behind, and I will not be leaving them. I leave them behind, now, and their forgiveness is mine to suffer alone. 
 
 The bay is alight with warfare, illuminated in that way only modern weapons flash and glow. The battleship fires its cannon skyward, but the monsters lurk below. I accelerate. 
 
 A corner comes faster than expected; I lean into the turn. If I will lean, I die. If I did lean, I would be safe. Instead, I lean, and narrowly survive. It is good. I continue. I check my mirrors. Where are the demons? 
 
 An eagle perches on my handlebars. “ The end is near, ” it tells me. “ Fuck you, bird, ” I reply. 
 
 “ Please, come with me, and understand. ” 
 
 I cross a small creek on a dilapidated bridge. The fish judge, and the crickets speak hate into an empty landscape, empty except for and including me. I trust the eagle. I go with him. 
 
 Soaring, I gaze down on the landscape from a new perspective. The fish are amazed. The crickets speak hate. Up here, my life appears small, like an ant. I can think. Flight is not relaxing. It focuses me. 
 
 It is morning. I am lying in a field. I haven ’ t lain, and I won ’ t lie tomorrow. Where is my bike? No matter. The dew soaks my clothes, and the horizon awakens, and the stars begin to fade, and I lie. Is this ‘ relaxing ’? Probably not. I like this. 
 
 The remaining stars come into focus, and grow. They are not stars. They are lights, intense, obnoxious, and they are for me. Aliens? No, there are no aliens here. A wind buffets my face, but not my fingers. It is not the familiar wind, not the pleasant one, not reassuring. 
 
 Lit by his lights in the sky, a serpent descends and offers his staff. I am enveloped, and lifted, once again. Am I going to heaven or to hell? Am I already there? “ Which one? ” I ask the serpent. “ Neither, buddy, ” he says, “ We ’ re going to help you. Everything ’ s going to be okay. Just try to relax. ” 
 
 I don ’ t want to relax. I can ’ t. But I close my eyes, and try. 

