Sunsets and Silencers

"Speed Freak" by Gary Harmon

The first thing he noticed was how cold it was. He hadn't counted on this.
Though he had planned and thought for what seemed like ages, convincing himself that this was the only way, the best way. He hadn't counted on the cold. Also, he hadn't counted on the wind. The wind made it impossible to see and impossible to hear. Though these were aspects that were unplanned for and initially troubling; he knew that they would be essentially passing concerns.

What does it matter? he thought. It didn't, or at least, it wouldn't. In a few
minutes, not the cold, nor the wind, nor the lack of sight would matter at all.
After all, it's not as if he needed to see where he was going; he knew where he
was going. What was there to hear but the howling wind? He did want to see
though; he did want to take it all in. He opened his eyes briefly to take a
look and only registered white patches and green patches. His eyes were shut by
the unforgiving and unyielding wind. He adjusted his body to look back.

It was easier to see without the wind blasting in his face but there was only
blue, a few wispy traces of white and speck of something grey being quickly
consumed by the infinite blue void. Oh well, he thought, this will do.

What came next, he had expected but wasn't sure precisely what it would be like.

Slowly he began to recollect things in his past. Generally, what he remembered
were things that had made him happy. He remembered being nine years old and
being the only kid in the neighborhood brave enough to jump the rickety four foot ramp he and his friends had constructed together. After botching the landing, he fell, breaking his left arm and getting a nasty gash on his head.

Standing up, he said, "That was awesome! I'm gonna do it again!" and with his arm limp at his side and blood pouring down his face, his childhood friends
watched in horror. He smiled at this. The pain didn't bother him; pain never
bothered him much. It was the rush.

He found something -- new, something exciting and something that he would be
chasing for the rest of his life. It was his new drug and it would be the only
drug he would ever want or need. He remembered the first fist fight he was in
at thirteen. He was surrounded by three larger boys and he had lost rather
badly. That day he broke his nose, bruised his ribs and developed a reputation
around the schoolyard as the kid who laughed as he got beaten to a pulp. He
remembered getting his first dirt bike at sixteen and careening through the
woods behind his parents' house. The cuts and bruises I got from that
bike, he thought, recalling the many times he had been thrown off into thorn
bushes or rocks.

He remembered the many talks that his parents had with him about safety and how they once had him sent to a psychiatrist to find out what was "wrong" with him, to no avail.

He enlisted in the Army at eighteen and joined the infantry. Now there was a
good time, he thought.

He had a distinguished military career, becoming an Army Airborne Ranger. He
came to idolize Audie Murphy, a World War II hero that had once climbed onto a
German tank and assaulted it with its own machine gun, amongst other seemingly insane acts of bravery. He imagined the situation over and over in his head, putting himself in place of Murphy. This would be a fantasy that he wouldcome back to many times over the years.

During his time in the Army, he volunteered for numerous assignments in combat
zones and hostile areas, actually seeing some combat and saving a few lives.
Though he was glad to do it, he always sort of envied the men that he saved. He
pestered them to tell him what it was like being that close to death, hoping to
get the same rush they did as the very real possibility of their own mortality
stared them in the face. He was promoted quickly through the military until he got to the rank of Staff Sergeant and began to lose interest in the Army. He realized that he would be relegated to paper work and administrative duties, and trading in his M-16 for a pen and a stapler was something he couldn't bear.

These memories. His first experience with bungee jumping, BASE jumping and sky
diving. He remembered his first experience scaling the sheer wall of a mountain
and shooting through rapids in a canoe. These activities faded eventually and
he was left chasing that first high; that first rush. He remembered his brief
stint with drugs. In every instance, they failed him. He sought that rush, that
moment in time. In that time, he could see everything, feel everything -- in
amazing crystal clear detail. He always found it ironic that he went faster for
everything to slow down.

He read somewhere that this is a concept of physics; the faster you go, the
slower time goes. He figured that wasn't exactly right. He opened his eyes
briefly again and saw that the green patches were taking a more uniform shape
with small grey lines were delineating their boundaries. Thirty seconds, maybe.
He realized that if he was going to pop, this was his last chance to do it.

It was in a dance club. They were initially aggressive towards each other. He
remembered his wife and the first time they met, each finding the other
abrasive and grating. In the cramped women's bathroom. They tore into each
other. Jesus, that was hot he thought. Spontaneous love making in public places
and the fear of getting caught. The passion they once held for each other, the
heated arguments, their heat. Lately, he felt that the fire was gone, there was
no more excitement, there was no more rush. He had neglected his wife; she bored
him these days as they had settled into the all too familiar suburban nesting
instinct. If prime time television and popular culture was to be believed, this
is when everyone starts becoming responsible adults and leaves the risky
behavior to the youngsters. Not him. He refused to be that guy.

The turning point for him was three days ago when he walked in on his wife in
bed with another man. He watched them for awhile. That's when he realized it
was over. Not his marriage but that feeling. He felt numb. He felt dead. So, he
casually walked into the bedroom got his coat, said, "Wow Tom, you've been
working out, huh?" and walked out as casually as he had entered.

His wife screamed and Tom scrambled for something to cover himself with. It
wasn't that his trust had been betrayed, it was the fact that he didn't care.
It was the fact that he had no reaction.

Here was the woman that he'd loved? Well, here was the woman that he liked well
enough to marry, in bed with another man, and he didn't feel the urge to do
anything about it. He just didn't feel anything.

He opened his eyes and found the wind. He could see everything clearly and
looked ahead of him to see the jagged bed of rocks that he was speeding toward.

There will be nothing left, he thought in a calm. The landscape appeared not to
come at him but expand and spread out, zooming in, swiftly. He was smiling; he
thought back to his first experience jumping that ramp at nine years old and
all of his friends standing around, mouths hanging open. If only they could see
me now.



Gary Harmon is an under-achieving Combat Veteran with a penchant for getting
bored and doing something about it. He never attended an institute of higher
learning; something he's both proud of and slightly ashamed of. He spends his
time playing guitar, attempting to write songs, having imaginary conversations
with famous people and inventing reasons not to go to the gym. He currently
works for the U.S. Government in South Korea.