Reverie Ride

The old laboratory smelled of used oil and death. The noise of sparking electricity was only deadened by the mechanical sound of gears turning. The walls were covered in grease and grime. On rusty nails hung the tools for the job: saws, hammers, wrenches, and the lot.

A dark figure stood in the middle of the dreadful room; not a man but neither machine. Forgotten and dead. No longer useful for anyone with a sane mind. Its chest open, guts spilled across the cold floor. In the great cavity of the trunk proper, viscera: the engine of the machine, loudly beating, Bah-dun, Bah-dun. The muffler, the wheezing lungs replaced. The vessel fuelled, not with dark blood, but with a viscous liquid.

A being ought to be dead, forced to live once more! With the twist of a key, fire exploded in the creature's heart, and it screamed a most horrific scream. “Kill me! Kill me!”

“David! Will ya ever stop that racket?” his boss barked at him. “Sounds like somethin' is wrong with the exhaust. It's like a banshee wailin' in there. Go on and take a look at it.”

David turned off the engine and got out of the old car. He knew it would be a long day when the boys towed the beat up, rust-covered car into the repair shop that morning. He had never seen such a wreck before. It was something of a miracle that it didn't explode into a million pieces the moment he started the engine.

David never imagined he'd end up as a car repairman. He'd earned a degree in mechanical engineering because he liked to tinker. But no matter how many years he spent in the shop, he could never get used to the environment of a proper mechanic's garage. Not to the deafening noise of machinery, nor to the acrid bite of gasoline that seared his throat, or to the blinding overhead lights that made his eyes burn and itch. He wanted to leave, but money had to be made, so he kept working.

The car was parked on a repair lift. With the press of a button, the hydraulic pistons of the car lift began to elevate the tons-of-scrap high into the air. Under it was the deep, dark void — a small trench — a hole in the floor made for mechanics to check the underside of a vehicle.

David zipped up his dirty, oil-stained work overalls. His uniform had an old iron-on patch, which was hanging onto hope and a single thread of fiber; it read: 'Niall's Automobile Service Agency'. The logo of the repair shop was made to resemble that of a famous space-aeronautics company's. His overalls fixed, he put on his pressure helmet and closed the airlock door behind him.

*Btzzz* “Culligan requesting clearance for extravehicular activity,” David said into his radio.

*Btzzz* “Affirmative, you are cleared. Enjoy your spacewalk, David,” a voice buzzed from his headset.

As the last bit of air was sucked out of the airlock, the outer hatch opened up before him. With a strong push of his feet, he escaped the artificial gravity of the spaceship's flooring, and he gracefully glided out of the spacecraft. Now he was outside, as outside as any man can be. Swimming in the great ocean of nothingness. The only thing keeping him from flying into the mouth of emptiness — from being entirely enveloped by boundless blackness — was the tether supplying him with oxygen and keeping him attached to the spaceship. It was the umbilical cord between an unborn child and its mother. It was the only thing keeping him alive.

One fails to comprehend the maddening vastness of space. And the silence that it holds. David could only hear his own breathing. And the disturbing loudness of a beating heart, like a distant drum, Bah-dun, Bah-dun. He could not tell if the darkness he saw was infinitely far away, or right in front of his helmet.

He was just about finished repairing the spacecraft when a voice came in on his radio.

*Btzzz* “Earth to David. Earth to David. Will ya snap out of it?”

David found himself firmly standing on his own two feet on the concrete floor of the repair shop. His boss stood at the edge of the mechanic's pit, looking down at him with a smirk.

“Your head's off in the clouds again, is it?” his boss asked.

“Above,” he muttered as he climbed out of the trench.

“Let's see if we can bring this lass to life.”

They lowered the car and David got into the driver's seat. He took the keys out of his pocket and slid it into the ignition switch. He turned the key, and waited for the engine to catch. Reluctantly, it let out a low growl, followed by a couple of dry coughs, but eventually, the engine fell into an arrhythmic beat.

“There she purrs. Proper work, David.”

Proper work indeed, but he felt no satisfaction. Why waste the manpower and time when a metal-carcass such as this one is only good for scraps?

As if it heard his thoughts, David felt the car rumbling and shaking beneath him. He instinctually grabbed onto the steering wheel, just to hold onto something. It was thrashing about like a raging bull.

The car was screaming, but it did not wail or growl. It was roaring, roaring like a fiery beast. David's breath caught in his throat as thick black smoke filled the garage. The engine pulsated violently. Then with a deafening blast, fire erupted from the exhaust, consuming the vehicle entirely.

David felt his skin searing in the heat, sinking into the seat, and then he felt it no longer. He saw fire envelop him completely, blinding him with light, and then he saw it no longer. He heard screaming and yelling, and then he heard it no longer. He smelled the mixture of used oil and fresh blood, then he smelled it no longer.

His heart was beating erratically, like an old engine after too many miles, Bah-dun, Bah-dun, Bah—.

***

I should see a therapist, David thought.