Phantom Existence
by Atom Cheung
On a highway built on the backs of an infinite series of dormant dinosaurs, we created a teleporter. Did this by maintaining max velocity in a compact “X”. If I rolled down my window, I could touch Miracle’s hand, or make eye contact, at least. Physical interaction, however distant and miniscule, was vital in sustaining the fight. I asked if she was ready.
“Of course!” Miracle gestured by tapping her visor five times – her code name spelled-out across a pink helmet plastered by stickers, a pink glove gripping twelve o’clock on the steering wheel. I opted for a silver gear to go with Megatron, which I thought could be changed later if needed. Names were just metaphors to keep us going, give us shapes and colours on a stony drive that was endlessly straight. But the teleporter was real. A cluster of five raging vehicles we were. A five of spades, forever gunning for the next hill, with a fresh airstream brewed and bottled up.
Miracle eased into the centre. Together, we jacked up our speed by fifty, held it for five seconds. Then we gave Miracle the green light to lift her foot off the gas. We called it ‘teleport,’ but it was more like a ‘sling,’ and she’d end up way ahead of us at the top of the hill.
Towards the downhill, she’d press all her weight onto the gas so the rest of us – Marx, Maverick, Muffins, and I – could be teleported forward. Then we’d resume our formation, the blue digits on our speedometers doubled. “Phantom boost” was the term. I just called it teamwork.
“What took you guys so long?” Miracle taunted on the radio. She made way for the next car to take centre, the next hill looking bigger and bigger. This was always the most testing manoeuvre. Even with muscle memory built up from countless reps, we were constantly a twitch away from death, or worse, restart. The road was dusty and opened to interpretation, with stretches that didn’t come into view till we got very close. The end was near, had been for several years. “Phantom existence,” they said, could be attained when our ever-increasing speed had rendered every physical object to its vaporous, untouchable state. As always, I tapped my visor five times, after running my finger across the dent on my silver helmet.
Atom Cheung is a radio presenter on RTHK, the public broadcasting service in Hong Kong. His poetry and fiction have appeared in Canto Cutie, LickZine, and Voice & Verse. His introspective soliloquies are collected in the podcast Atomic Heart, available on Spotify. More at www.atomcheung.com.