Three o’clock in the morning

Three o’clock on a Sunday morning was usually quiet but this morning it was shattered by the spinning wheels of Alex Boxer’s red Buick.  He held the brake and worked the wheel as he waited for the right moment to let go.  A pair of headlights crested over the large hill behind him.  Alex released the brake and held tight to the wheel.  The Buick twisted through the intersection.

Gotlingburg disappeared within moments.  Alex growled as he sped past his home town.  The trees blurred within the darkness of the early morning.  Alex was heading to Pottsburg.  A larger city stuck in the Midwest tract of corn and wheat farms.  A job sat waiting for him.  Some sloppy factory job that involved nasty chemicals and standing all day but it was miles from Gotlingburg.

Alex noticed the familiar colored lights of a police cruiser.  “My god, man,” he told himself.  “This town will not let me go.”  Alex pushed the Buick forward.  The lights hung far from him and seemed to hang midair as the lights crested over another hill.  Alex began up a hill himself and slowed near the top.  He knew at this speed he wouldn’t stay on the ground.  He slowed but the hill crested faster than he expected and the Buick set off as the ground fell away.  Everything within the car, including Alex’s heart shot to the ceiling.  The Buick fell toward the ground nearly twenty-five feet from the crest of the hill.  The ground seemed hundreds of feet below.  Alex braced for impact as the ground raced to meet him but it never came.  The Buick sank into the ground.  The road folded underneath him and disappeared into darkness.  Alex watched as the scene above him disappeared.  He watched the road contour and disappear into the night sky.

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