Man on a Motorcycle
Jun. 24th, 2003 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarotgalThis is something I wrote back in the 7th or 8th grade... I corrected my spelling, but kept the rest as it was for the humor of it:
The rain poured down, making clashing, hollow sounds on the top of his helmet. He kept his eyes on the side of the road, only able to see what his headlights showed closely in front of him, and at his speed that wasn’t much. He was looking for an exit, any sign at all would do. He needed refueling… and a cup of coffee wouldn’t be too bad… and neither would some sleep. It seemed like he had been riding forever; his legs and butt ached tremendously. He didn’t know exactly how long it had been or exactly how long he had traveled, or even if he had lost his pursuers. But he hoped that he had.
He slowed at the first exit and took the off ramp into a small town in the middle of completely nowhere. It was the kind of town too small to even be mentioned by the people living in it, preferring to name the nearest large town instead in hopes of at least minor recognition of their location. There seemed to be only one place to stay: a run-down, typical old motel with paint chipping off from the sides and a sign hanging at a tilted angle. He sighed as he parked his bike and went in to get a room. There wasn’t a line, it being two in the morning and again in the middle of nowhere, so he made it in and out in ten minutes flat. He had skillfully avoided no check on his card and left, swinging the room key from a finger in satisfaction. He went back to his bike before going to his room, and knelt down beside it to check the air in his tires.
Suddenly he was blinded by car headlights headed straight for him. He tried to roll out of the way but there wasn’t any time, so he braced himself for impact. The driver saw him at the last second and tried to swerve, but ended up hitting his right leg and part of his left one. The driver stopped and jumped out from the car. “Oh my God! Are you all right? Did I kill you?”
He threw his motorcycle helmet off, the hard plastic making an almost tinny sound against the wet pavement as it bounced. “Might have been better if you had. What the hell were you doing?”
She knelt down beside him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you until the last second. Are you hurt? Can I take you to the hospital? Here—” she took a hold of his arm and was about to help him up when he pulled away.
“Get away! Hell, I can get up all right by myself.”
“Sorry,” she repeated, looking terribly guilty as her headlights still blasted them in the middle of the night. “But someone should really take a look at you. I can give you a lift—”
“I’m fine. Just leave me alone.” He looked into her beautiful green eyes and felt like smiling. It was the first time in weeks he had had the time to think about sex. She had long, straight brown hair and was wearing a short, short, short mini-skirt. His impulse response was that she was adorable, cute, sexy, but there wasn’t time for it in his life at the moment. He stood up and limped over to the numbered room which matched his key. Without a word, he disappeared inside.
The warmth was the first thing he noticed. Outside in the rain he felt wet and chilled but inside he felt a little better. All Ron wanted to do was rest, maybe drink a couple beers and forget about everything. He wanted someone to sleep with him, he wanted to lose himself in the moment, he wanted someone to tell him that it would all turn out fine. But all he did was strip off his leather jacket, dropping it in a wet puddle by the door, slipped out of his shoes, and climbed underneath the covers of an unfamiliar but definitely welcome bed.
It was still raining when he fell out of bed a couple of hours later. It was too early for anyone in their right mind to get up but Ron knew he had to. He went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. “Come on, wake up, Ronny,” he said to himself in the mirror, his voice hoarse with fatigue. His reflection vanished from sight for a moment as he brought his fist to face and sneezed twice, heartily. After clearing his throat, he headed back to the main room. Putting on his shoes and jacket, he glanced at the clock on his way out; it was half-past four. The accident had left him a little shaken, a little bruised on the ego and the legs, but his bike would function fine; not that he had any other choice.
He limped towards the door and opened it, only to find the woman who had run into him. He pulled back with a surprised jolt. “What…?”
“I felt guilty… I’ve been standing here for a half an hour getting up the courage to knock. I just wanted to be sure you were all right after all that. I can still take you to the hospital—”
“It’s nothing.” He tried to push past her, out the door, prepared to let the matter rest. She blocked his way. “Get out of my way.” She did not do this, and he had begun to get more than angry with her.
“You really don’t look so good, you know.”
“I…” his voice died away suddenly as he went faint. His eyes closed, and he quickly grabbed hold of the side of the doorway to stay on his feet. The pain shooting through his legs did not help him to stay upright, but the thoughts of what would happen if he did not helped him to.
She reached over to support him and her hand felt his forehead in the process. He pulled away from her, preferring the doorway to her. “You have a fever!” she exclaimed, looking concerned. He turned away from her completely and sneezed again, twice, paused, then once more. “And you’re ill!”
“And you’re brilliant,” he grumbled, pulling his arm away from her as she went to hold him up again. All at once, things went dark, and he blacked out completely. He fell to the floor with a hard and heavy thump.
I always envisioned her brining him aspirin and tissues in bed, and hiding him until the danger passed, nursing him back to health and all that... while he slowly warms up to her. But, as you can see, it was never written. Oh well. Twas a fun look back. heehee The days before I realized other people were into this kind of stuff, too. I always figured I had a thing for sick guys... and it showed up in most of my writings. But this is one of the MANY stories I never showed anybody ever.
The rain poured down, making clashing, hollow sounds on the top of his helmet. He kept his eyes on the side of the road, only able to see what his headlights showed closely in front of him, and at his speed that wasn’t much. He was looking for an exit, any sign at all would do. He needed refueling… and a cup of coffee wouldn’t be too bad… and neither would some sleep. It seemed like he had been riding forever; his legs and butt ached tremendously. He didn’t know exactly how long it had been or exactly how long he had traveled, or even if he had lost his pursuers. But he hoped that he had.
He slowed at the first exit and took the off ramp into a small town in the middle of completely nowhere. It was the kind of town too small to even be mentioned by the people living in it, preferring to name the nearest large town instead in hopes of at least minor recognition of their location. There seemed to be only one place to stay: a run-down, typical old motel with paint chipping off from the sides and a sign hanging at a tilted angle. He sighed as he parked his bike and went in to get a room. There wasn’t a line, it being two in the morning and again in the middle of nowhere, so he made it in and out in ten minutes flat. He had skillfully avoided no check on his card and left, swinging the room key from a finger in satisfaction. He went back to his bike before going to his room, and knelt down beside it to check the air in his tires.
Suddenly he was blinded by car headlights headed straight for him. He tried to roll out of the way but there wasn’t any time, so he braced himself for impact. The driver saw him at the last second and tried to swerve, but ended up hitting his right leg and part of his left one. The driver stopped and jumped out from the car. “Oh my God! Are you all right? Did I kill you?”
He threw his motorcycle helmet off, the hard plastic making an almost tinny sound against the wet pavement as it bounced. “Might have been better if you had. What the hell were you doing?”
She knelt down beside him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you until the last second. Are you hurt? Can I take you to the hospital? Here—” she took a hold of his arm and was about to help him up when he pulled away.
“Get away! Hell, I can get up all right by myself.”
“Sorry,” she repeated, looking terribly guilty as her headlights still blasted them in the middle of the night. “But someone should really take a look at you. I can give you a lift—”
“I’m fine. Just leave me alone.” He looked into her beautiful green eyes and felt like smiling. It was the first time in weeks he had had the time to think about sex. She had long, straight brown hair and was wearing a short, short, short mini-skirt. His impulse response was that she was adorable, cute, sexy, but there wasn’t time for it in his life at the moment. He stood up and limped over to the numbered room which matched his key. Without a word, he disappeared inside.
The warmth was the first thing he noticed. Outside in the rain he felt wet and chilled but inside he felt a little better. All Ron wanted to do was rest, maybe drink a couple beers and forget about everything. He wanted someone to sleep with him, he wanted to lose himself in the moment, he wanted someone to tell him that it would all turn out fine. But all he did was strip off his leather jacket, dropping it in a wet puddle by the door, slipped out of his shoes, and climbed underneath the covers of an unfamiliar but definitely welcome bed.
It was still raining when he fell out of bed a couple of hours later. It was too early for anyone in their right mind to get up but Ron knew he had to. He went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. “Come on, wake up, Ronny,” he said to himself in the mirror, his voice hoarse with fatigue. His reflection vanished from sight for a moment as he brought his fist to face and sneezed twice, heartily. After clearing his throat, he headed back to the main room. Putting on his shoes and jacket, he glanced at the clock on his way out; it was half-past four. The accident had left him a little shaken, a little bruised on the ego and the legs, but his bike would function fine; not that he had any other choice.
He limped towards the door and opened it, only to find the woman who had run into him. He pulled back with a surprised jolt. “What…?”
“I felt guilty… I’ve been standing here for a half an hour getting up the courage to knock. I just wanted to be sure you were all right after all that. I can still take you to the hospital—”
“It’s nothing.” He tried to push past her, out the door, prepared to let the matter rest. She blocked his way. “Get out of my way.” She did not do this, and he had begun to get more than angry with her.
“You really don’t look so good, you know.”
“I…” his voice died away suddenly as he went faint. His eyes closed, and he quickly grabbed hold of the side of the doorway to stay on his feet. The pain shooting through his legs did not help him to stay upright, but the thoughts of what would happen if he did not helped him to.
She reached over to support him and her hand felt his forehead in the process. He pulled away from her, preferring the doorway to her. “You have a fever!” she exclaimed, looking concerned. He turned away from her completely and sneezed again, twice, paused, then once more. “And you’re ill!”
“And you’re brilliant,” he grumbled, pulling his arm away from her as she went to hold him up again. All at once, things went dark, and he blacked out completely. He fell to the floor with a hard and heavy thump.
I always envisioned her brining him aspirin and tissues in bed, and hiding him until the danger passed, nursing him back to health and all that... while he slowly warms up to her. But, as you can see, it was never written. Oh well. Twas a fun look back. heehee The days before I realized other people were into this kind of stuff, too. I always figured I had a thing for sick guys... and it showed up in most of my writings. But this is one of the MANY stories I never showed anybody ever.
Precocious!
Date: 2003-06-24 10:00 pm (UTC)Re: Precocious!
Date: 2003-06-24 11:20 pm (UTC)I think I prefer yours! :-)
a midlands Indian family's day to day life -that sounds fascinating! I wrote a lot of random historical fiction back then as well... heck, still do(I'm stuck in the mid-18th century) Exploring cultures through writing has always been a huge interest of mine... probably why it takes me so long with most of my stuff :-)
As for the sisters thing... my friends and I of that time period usually compared to see which of us had the worst ones LOL So very grown up of you all!
Anyway... this story was entitled "Idea#21" and was never finished like most of my stories of that time. I wrote my first sex scene during 7th grade though... I dunno... wasn't exactly graphic or based on fact or anything LOL As you can probably tell by the lack of total realism from this story (guy gets hit by car, guy walks away with a few bruises only, guy worries about unknown assailents who are never explained, etc.) I guess I wasn't too good at being precocious! lol But thanks. Twas fun to dig that up and share!