Frank went over to the window once more, the night almost a solid black mass now, the light in the room opposite extinguished. He looked down at the streetlamps along the avenue in static formations, austere in their solid lines. The night air was cool and made him feel light. He closed the curtains, the wind underneath lifting them like a veil, and turned in for the night. Head against the pillow, Frank tried to settle, physically he was exhausted but his thoughts kept bringing him back to the surface.
The day had been long, so long in fact that it seemed to hold the whole world within its confines. His mind searched through the void for the motive that had driven him away from the scene of the accident, and to the city limits, and eventually to the ramshackle motel with its broken down façade and flickering neon sign. The decision to leave had been impulsive, but felt necessary. He had surprised himself for the first time in a long while. The full extent of the decision hadn’t yet sunk in, and he wasn’t quite ready to face it head on. He felt the deep vacuum widen within him, as if by thinking about it too much would realise its true potential as a damaging force upon his wellbeing. As a result, he had learned to keep a distance between himself and his thoughts at all times.
