It’s said that on that fateful night, the stars were gifted front row seats to sights they’d never seen before. Or, in truth, would likely ever see again.
Some light-years below, on the outskirts of a town whose name would be forgotten by the umpteenth retelling, a tangle of technicolour sparks lit the pines, the street signs, and the tarmac below…
…and then it happened.
Some would say it appeared out of thin air with a thud.
Others? That it drove out of hell itself, chased by the acrid scent of burnt rubber and broken dreams.
“It…It worked! I fucking told you Ned, it worked!!”
“Check the sign.” Ned replied.
Ned gestured with a finger across the dashboard, pointing up ahead.
“The fucking sign, you goof!”
“Come on Ned, there’s n…”
Jack trailed off, squinting into the night with eyes still mourning a pair of glasses lost a lifetime or two ago.
“Freeway. Exit. 1/2 Mile…we’ve made it!”
Ned threw a glance at the rear view mirror, as that quiet country road erupted in a blaze of fireworks for a second time that night.
“We’re not free yet, little brother…”