one third of a moment: #15

the life now seemed to him a half baked dream, a distantly heard story, a movie watched half asleep. he has come way far to turn back, he thinks. but he forgets that he could have turned back any time. he could turn back even now. but he won't. he would keep moving forward as this is the only thing that could keep his sanity intact. removing himself from that one habit will throw him in the numb darkness. he shudders even at the thought.

                he shifts the gear up in his white coutach and speeds in the alley. he was so high that he could not even recall his name instantly, but he knew how to drive. normally, the alley is so brimming with people that his car wouldn't have moved an inch; or would have significantly decreased the nearby population to half at this speed. but right now, it was silent and deserted. as if no one lives here at all. like a ghost alley.
                the screech of the brakes might have woken up some sleeping inhabitants, or might have disturbed some bed scenes in the making. the ceramic disk brakes were specially installed for this purpose. there in the corner was his old home. a dilapidated hut. and in the front porch, a small handcart his father used to sell toys on. and when he used to come in the night, tired as fuck, and his son used to ask him for a joy ride, he never said no. he used to unload the hand cart, put all the toys very carefully in a tank, and then they both go strolling in the street. the father used to push the hand cart while the son shouts merrily. and they go for a few rounds around the street.
                and now there he was, the son, in his million dollar cart that does not need hands to pull, after a whole day of toilsome, ready to reverse the roles. but sadly, the one who was supposed to play him went to sleep early.