I was away at Arahina for 2 weeks, hence the lack of blogging. On the way there, we had a blowout.

In case you are thinking something else, that disgruntled entity at the beginning of this one, is the tyre that blew. Not me.

The tyre

Because of the revolution, he was forced to adjust, stretching to accommodate the new position that he found himself, degraded and slighted, he carried the whole societal structure on his shoulders, but because of his unglamorous position, he was more often than not ignored.

The acuteness of his sense of duty was, in the past, immense, but over the recent months especially, his patience with the whole degrading system was wearing thin. Very thin. It had started with only an innocently disgruntled thought. "why am I doing this?", which evolved into a more "why am 'I' doing this?".

Inevitably, under such incredible internal and external pressure, he cracked. Not visibly, but he had sprung a leak, which would, in the near future, rip him apart.

Black smoke, the acrid smell of burning rubber, the squeal of balding tyres - Who ever was driving, they were in a hurry. The moon, partly shrouded by an evening mist, cast it's reflection on the shiny black surface of the speeding car. Onward and upward it drove, the driver concentrating hard, trying to keep himself awake, was always alert for the flashing lights, the wailing sirens that would indicate that their identity had been discovered. Round the bend ">>>>>>75" said the sign, ">>>>>>85", the driver unconsciously calculated. Over the rise they drove, the panorama of the ocean reflecting the night sky. "No time to look at the scenery...", the driver thought glancing at the clock - 12:47 - they were making good time....

"mmmmmmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm...." The unexpected sound, accompanied by a rumbling vibration, snapped the sleeping occupants of the vehicle back into consciousness. The tyre, full of vengeful hatred - rather than air, had chosen this moment to spring it's last gasp surprise on the driver. It had chosen an effective time to go - 02:03.

The rubber of the tyre was torn. Pieces of steel were sticking out at unnatural angles, giving it, in the darkness of the summers night, the look of a mouth, snarling up at the driver (who was at that time, holding a cell phone's luminous face up to it, as he hadn't a torch).