Follow the Road to the Right

This direction seems as good as any.

You make good speed traveling along the flat black surface. The terrain around you seems to remain roughly the same; trees and other vegetation, and some small animals in the surrounding woods.

You idly wonder if you should feel some change or biological need at some point; after all, you have stopped for nothing. Somewhere in your mind, you have a vague recollection of "needing" sustenance or rest.

All of that is interrupted by the approach of a light ahead. Two lights in fact. White with a yellow tinge; they loom ahead in the dwindling light, moving towards you.

You stand at your full height and, baring your teeth, raise a hand in front of you, signalling a warning for the creature to stop it's aggressive approach.

The oncoming Mack truck is not moved by your warning. Perhaps it would be, had the driver not been texting. A large beast-man with bone spikes all over him certainly would have made SOME kind of impression.

You do, however, make an impression on the engine block of the truck as it slams into you. You don't know what hubris is, but a small part of you feels like you deserve it as your shoulder spikes shatter, along with the rest of you. Your severed head lives a few moments, long enough to take pleasure at the sight of the driver's body flying through the windscreen and practically explode against a tree by the side of the road. You love trees. You'll miss them the most.