Satch is my deadpan brother. He scratches his elbow. Sighs uncomfortably. “Can’t you go any faster?” He whines.

“Not unless you want us all killed,” I say. I add on, for the sake of pure sarcasm “But then again, you wouldn’t mind that, would you,”

Satch stays silent. Glares at me through the review mirror. The car is becoming hotter despite all the windows being opened. We are surrounded by empty road and yellow fields. Tar and dairy cows. Satch is my unhinged brother. My screaming around life’s corners and always running brother. Apparently psychiatric wards are safer in remote areas, because the residents aren’t stressed by the constant buzz of the city. Satch likes to throw himself into city buzz. He told me once, when he was sixteen, that he imagines the city as a big dragonfly and if he hurls himself fast enough into its wings they will beat against him and he will become numb. I wonder what Satch is searching for.

We zoom past a cow’s carcass lying on the side of the road. “How delicious,” I observe lightly. I remember, once, one of my teachers used the metaphor of a cow’s carcass in an oasis as a representation of the human condition. They were pretty pessimistic.

“I think my brain is floating away from my body,” Satch announces “I thought that spring roll tasted strange,”

“You’re meant to be drugged up in the ward, not out of it,” I say, and I roll my eyes. I hear Satch’s stomach make a strange noise. “I’m going to be sick,” He mutters.

He groans and sticks his head out of the window. This is the second time car sickness has made me pull over. Satch dashed behind a bush. I hear loud retching noises, and then wet splattering.

“I hate car sickness!” He wails “Oh my god-“

“Don’t se the lords name in vain,” I say above his retching.

A minute passes. Satch wobbles out from behind his shrub. “Water?” He croaks.

I give him his water bottle. He gargles and spits out a mouthful of water. Takes a long swig. I watch as he fishes a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lights up. There is a comfortable silence.

“So I was thinking about insanity,” Satch states, to no one in particular. I predict another Satch epiphany on life.

“And, Satch?”

“There is a very thin line between sanity and insanity,” He says rather flatly.

“I think someone famous already said that,”

“And it’s true,” Satch looks satisfied with himself. He tilts his head back and blows a plume of smoke into the air.

“So you’re saying,” I begin “That someone only has to change their actions slightly to be classified as a nut job?”

“Absolutely,”

“And I suppose taking more than a triple dose of sleeping pills in one hit in only changing ones actions slightly?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. Satch is my quick witted sleeping pill triple dosing brother. “Technically, yes. Except your stomach is pumped afterwards,” He continues, quietly “And that’s when you get the stamp on your forehead telling yourself and everyone around you that you’re dangerous when left alone,”

I feel like a jerk. Satch is good at making me feel that way. Sometimes I forget he is made to make other people look normal. Satch stamps out his cigarette. “Let’s go,” He says “I’m becoming impatient with myself, although I do think I had a point,”

He marches towards the car. Satch is my stronger than me younger than me crazier than me brother.

We reach the ward. Satch bounds out of the car. Asks me if he smells of smoke. I give the nurse in the lobby Satch’s details. I look down the hall. A girl is telling her watch to shut up. Satch follows my gaze. “There’s this other guy who tells his food to be more sociable,” He pipes up “he doesn’t eat much,” He turns to look at me.

“See you in… Three month?” I say vaguely.

“Hm,”

This is the part where Satch I ought to hug. I manage to pat his arm awkwardly. I leave before I can see his reaction.

Driving back, I think about what Satch said; there is a very thin line between sanity and insanity. Only a small change in action can classify someone as insane. If I veer into the other lane, I’ll cause a fatal crash. Three large trucks move up along the opposite lane. What he hell, I think, before violently jerking the wheel to the right. Only a slight change in action can classify insanity.

I hear brakes screech and see alarmed faces. There is a scream, and these vital things, they all shut down slowly, slowly. Satch is my younger than me saner than me brother, but it doesn’t matter anymore: My pulse is running away from me, my heart is too angry to keep me alive and all I see is night and glass.