Kiss Me: Decide in January

A Story by Abishai100

Narrated 'claim' of an American roadways man who thinks life superstition draws in him some ghost-magic requirement for love-chore.

A 'consciousness' goosebumps tale for '25. Thanks for reading (have a great year!),

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I became obsessed with my newly-acquired classic auto in the American Homeland. I named her Christine. I started to make Selfie-age posts about lifestyle drawn road mobility magic and even superstitions of immortality, all because of my car, which made me feel like an immortal or an angel or a faerie or a man of colors (damn). I thought about my new auto, Christine, always. I'd become an auto-consciousness linked social media culture man (Facebook-like).

The car started talking to me, no joke. It was actually whispering to me. Christine started telling me to find some lady angel to drive around, to be my passenger for immortal thoughts. I dared not make jest or shoo-away these voices as hallucination, and I kept this dark secret from my psychiatrist. However, I still thought this thought was simply a Selfie-made delusion, and honestly, I thought one moment the voice was simply me...so I forgot about this. I decided to think Christine was no more special than any other piece of American Homeland roadways machinery (for the Ego!).

One night, after some wine, while in a motel I sojourned during a roadways loner-trek in Christine, I dreamt I was visited by a mysterious female specter, a human woman with no head visible or shown but with a voice of deep and dark Rationalism (wow). She told me her name...Christine. She told me I was to find her in some Miami diner, and she told me she was a football fan. She told me if I didn't find her, and if I failed to propose to her, she'd return to my dreams and give me a heart-attack (damn). I woke in a cold sweat, unsure of what to think or what my right-reaction should or could be now. However, I took the dream seriously and zoomed in Christine to the Orange-State (Florida).