From my soon-to-be-published Short Stories for the Soul: “The Survivor” I glance down as the speedometer’s passing 90. No helmet, of course. The sun’s setting under a blushing sky, succumbing to darkness. Dark is good, closer to oblivion than light. Leather-gloved hold on my Ninja 650, engine fever pitched. Hunched behind the windscreen, wind thundering over my head, I’m riding a rocket. A long, straight stretch, and I surge to 120, 130. Adrenaline pumping. A car in front of me. I pass it as if it’s standing still—and the whoosh makes life feel almost worthwhile. But I’ll always have to…