One more mile.
One more mile behind, one more mile to go.
The images still flashed. Vibrant, visceral images that would not be pushed aside no matter how hard I tried. The monotony of the speeding interstate. The barren plain offered no relief, and the flashing white line that divided the road bled together until it became solid, a line back to the beginning, back to the images.
A face painted in terror. Flash. A man pleading with hands up. Flash. A woman's face gone slack and bloodless. Flash.
I wrenched the car back as it drifted over the line.
Focus. Drive. Must get away.
God! How far do I have to go for the images to fade?
One more mile.