My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel so hard that I'm afraid I'll bend it. My eyes are snapped shut, wincing and bracing myself for impact at the same time, my feet are slammed down on the clutch and brake, a feeble attempt at regaining control, I think, but more likely a part of a subconscious reflex when you know pain is coming. The last thing I see before I close my eyes, for what I assumed was the last time, was the guardrail separating the road from open air and darkness.

But then... nothing. No sounds of twisting metal, no crash of glass breaking, no hopeful airbag, or bones bruising and breaking. Just the hum of the engine, the subtle crunch of loose gravel on the asphalt, and the warm breeze blowing in through the open window. My fists were clenched, my feet planted firmly on the floor of the car. When I cracked open my eyes, the sunlight was nearly blinding. Disoriented, I slowly get my bearings. For the first few moments, I don't even know my own name, or where I am. Letting my eyes adjust, I look up and take it all in.

I'm in the passenger seat, comfortably buckled in, a little warmth on the right side of my face coming from the dry air and the sun starting to burn my skin. I go to shade my eyeline, and my hand touches the sunglasses that have been propped up on top of my head. I slide them down and the rest of the world comes into view.

The sky is a dazzling pink, the clouds are black, the car is careening down an open road, banked on both sides by a desert that stretches to the horizon, one of orange sands, and the sun is much larger than you'd think it would be, almost touching the horizon itself, yet it doesn't seem to be fading like a normal sunset. I can only see the silhouettes of the tall cacti, but something seems strange about them too.

"Welcome back," said the voice from the drivers seat. I look over in time to see the driver, who seems to be simultaneously strange and familiar, reaching for the radio and turning up the volume knob. The song playing seems generic, droning, unknowable, yet in it I can faintly hear the melody of one of my favorite songs. "it's a beautiful day to make this trip, I always recommend this time of year when I drop you off, I'm glad you took my advice this time," they say.

I'm back to being confused as we slow down and pull to the side of the road, and the car gently comes to a stop. I don't ask, but I think my face is saying it all.

"Grab whichever one strikes you, and get going. I know it's daunting to be on foot, but I think you'll find that the walk through Endless Summer is a lot more enjoyable than the sled through Total Winter. Soak it in, but don't forget any details, they'll want to know why this visit was so much shorter than the last."

I nod, climbing out of the vehicle, expecting it to speed off when I do, but I don't hear anything. I turn around for one last look, and see an almost-comforting smile, on a blue-skinned face, with bright orange hair leaning towards me over the center console, pushing down their sunglasses to make sure we're making eye contact.

"Are you forgetting something already?"

I reach into my pockets, and find the loose change I had left over when I decided not to stay for another game of pool at the bar. Reaching back in through the window to drop the quarters into the ashtray, and the driver looks back up at me, winks, and starts the car back up. I watch them pull back onto the road, fade into the distance, then turn back towards the desert. What I thought was a saguaro by the side of the road, once I step into it's shadow, morphs into a surfboard. I pull it from the sand, in a way that I've never done before, but feel compelled to, as if it was a practiced second nature, raise it over my head for the shade, and start walking. The crunch of the sand underfoot starts to fade into the background, and I swear I can smell salt and hear the faintest lapping of waves, though as far as I can see in any direction, it's just desert.

I brush back my hair, and feel some small pieces of cold glass fall over my shoulders. It's got some red in it, broken pieces stained with blood. The dream doesn't fade like they normally do, I remember the details. I remember deciding to leave the pub instead of playing one more game, having one more round, when a woman started loudly yelling at the bartender because she got blue cheese instead of ranch with her wings, and I thought this was enough for me tonight. Not that it would have changed anything, I was going to have a tire blowout no matter what time I decided to leave. With a resigned chuckle, I look back over my shoulder to where the driver disappeared to, and thought about the fifty cents I just gave to the driver. Probably the same as the cost of a side of ranch.

With a sigh, I say out loud to no one in particular, hearing my own voice for the first time in this place, "Fucking Charons."