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Description
A peculiar form of irony brought me to him, the truck driver who had been the cause of my unexpected demise.

The man was stocky, broad-shouldered, a silhouette of strength curled up in the tin can of his battered truck cab. His hands, large and calloused, gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled from the shock. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, darted around in panic, encapsulating his fear and guilt. He was dressed in a plaid shirt that had seen better days, stretched over his substantial belly. His trucker cap cast a shadow on his rough, unshaven face, making him seem even more formidable.

I approached him, drawn by the frenzied energy that surrounded him. I sensed his panic, the raw fear that hung around him like a shroud. I moved closer, the cold of my incorporeal form merging with the palpable heat of his living body. The shock hit him like a bolt of lightning. His hands slipped from the wheel as he gasped for breath, his eyes rolled back in his head momentarily, the sharp flicker of resistance shining through before disappearing.

He slumped back into the seat, a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. His arms fell lifelessly to his sides and his muscular legs sprawled out before him awkwardly. His chest heaved with each labored breath as I seeped into him, feeling the powerful rhythm of his heart beneath me, a rhythm I would soon control.

I wrapped myself around his consciousness and started to push. His body shuddered in a last, desperate attempt to resist my intrusion, but it was in vain. Soon, the tremors subsided, his mind fell into a deep slumber, and I took over. I flexed his fingers, feeling the tough skin on his - or rather, my- hands. I ran them across my unshaven face, feeling my stubble prickling against my palms.

Now in control, I leaned back into my seat and stretched out. I took a moment to examine my new form. I admired my muscular arms, the ruddy complexion of my skin under the harsh white lights of the cab, the rough texture of the work-worn clothes. The light illuminated my robust figure, the angularity of my face, and the stubble across my cheeks. The panic was gone, replaced by my calm curiosity.

The truck driver who'd inadvertently ended my life was now asleep and I was awake, in charge, and ready to start my next chapter.

Description
A peculiar form of irony brought me to him, the truck driver who had been the cause of my unexpected demise.

The man was stocky, broad-shouldered, a silhouette of strength curled up in the tin can of his battered truck cab. His hands, large and calloused, gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled from the shock. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, darted around in panic, encapsulating his fear and guilt. He was dressed in a plaid shirt that had seen better days, stretched over his substantial belly. His trucker cap cast a shadow on his rough, unshaven face, making him seem even more formidable.

I approached him, drawn by the frenzied energy that surrounded him. I sensed his panic, the raw fear that hung around him like a shroud. I moved closer, the cold of my incorporeal form merging with the palpable heat of his living body. The shock hit him like a bolt of lightning. His hands slipped from the wheel as he gasped for breath, his eyes rolled back in his head momentarily, the sharp flicker of resistance shining through before disappearing.

He slumped back into the seat, a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. His arms fell lifelessly to his sides and his muscular legs sprawled out before him awkwardly. His chest heaved with each labored breath as I seeped into him, feeling the powerful rhythm of his heart beneath me, a rhythm I would soon control.

I wrapped myself around his consciousness and started to push. His body shuddered in a last, desperate attempt to resist my intrusion, but it was in vain. Soon, the tremors subsided, his mind fell into a deep slumber, and I took over. I flexed his fingers, feeling the tough skin on his - or rather, my- hands. I ran them across my unshaven face, feeling my stubble prickling against my palms.

Now in control, I leaned back into my seat and stretched out. I took a moment to examine my new form. I admired my muscular arms, the ruddy complexion of my skin under the harsh white lights of the cab, the rough texture of the work-worn clothes. The light illuminated my robust figure, the angularity of my face, and the stubble across my cheeks. The panic was gone, replaced by my calm curiosity.

The truck driver who'd inadvertently ended my life was now asleep and I was awake, in charge, and ready to start my next chapter.