"Sharing Victory"- drabble 8Drabble for Forever-Art-FanMore Like This
Characters: Lightning, Strip, Lynda
Words: grassy, indebted, evening
Lightning turned left into the long, dusty driveway leading up to the Weathers estate. The house was smaller than he had expected for a celebrity of The King's stature, but somehow that seemed to suit the older gentleman. Little more than a bungalow, the façade of the house was white with slightly-darker-than-Dinoco-blue trim. Quaint and welcoming, the house seemed almost to smile at the young racecar approaching it. Lightning smiled back, his admiration for The King deepening.
The rays of the late afternoon sun were a brilliant gold as they stretched from beyond the Tennessee hills to illuminate the many different colors of gladiolus and jessamine adorning the front yard. The King himself was relaxing on the grassy lawn, settled low on his axles, his eyes closed. He looked a far sight better than he had the last time Lightning had seen him, which had been in the hosp
. Ghost Car .PrologueMore Like This
A Dead Man's Will:
A hundred years could have passed, a thousand. But really it was only just ten. For ten years my baby sat rusting away in that junkyard: broken, busted, and rotting. For ten years I willed my sweetheart back into shape. It was an effort that left me useless for months at a time, but I never gave up. I fought time with sheer willpower and eventually I won. The only thing I couldn't get rid of were the bloodstains. By the time a man came to buy my baby, she was perfect again, and I had the strength of a horror movie monster and a grudge to match that of Edmond Dantes. After all, being dead does weird things to people, and this town has a lot to answer for.
A short stack topped with processed strawberries and a mound of coolwhip is my first meal in my new hometown: Icebuten, North Carolina. It's chilly here for late summer, but the rolling hills stretching towards the larger mountains that careen over the la
Torque ~ Chapter 4Chapter 4 - "Reverse Interrogation"More Like This
The interrogation room's dull yellow walls seemed to do the opposite for Ambrogio in terms of psychological effects. The walls, to him, really did have eyes. He saw the walls as if they were staring right back into his eyes and speaking, "Break."
He shook his hood, nope, he thought, not me. He spoke to the walls in his mind, like any good agent put in his situation would. When a spy is put into a situation where he's being interrogated or being threatened, he doesn't keep his attention only on the subject. His attention goes in all directions - evenly - which is why many people think spies are "super" beings; and the attention to the smallest details keep their attention from giving into whatever feeling was trying to be forced upon them; like a grandmother's knitting as she's parked at her husband's funeral. These walls will not intimidate me, he said to himself, they will not for these walls are nothing but cheap paint.
Torque ~ Chapter 3Chapter 3 - “The New One and the Reunion”More Like This
"...and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God indivisible with liberty, and justice for all," Rod mumbled to himself. He brought his tire up and out, saluting the small star spangled banner pinned to the cork board in his dorm.
The walls were a clean, cream color which complimented the white tile floor. A chestnut writing desk stood proudly against a wall, ready to be of assistance as a golden lamp that sat off to the side slept through the morning's daylight. Next to the desk, a tall bookcase - which matched his desk - filled with books from his training served as a reminder every single day that Rod's efforts were worth it. The bed, however, wasn't much. It was a cot, but more "decorated" than ones in the army. It was clean, it looked fresh, but it still didn't seem to be a permanent area to rest, just like any other cot. One thing was for sure - at least it wasn't Detroit.
He took in a deep breath as hi
Torque ~ Chapter 2Chapter 2 - "Don't Drop the Soap"More Like This
Rod came rolling from the street to a light yellow house with two floors and a gray roof. He went to put his tire on the door, but a foul stench made him cringe. He looked down at his hood, Evelyn's oily blood still spread all over him. His eyelids squinted from the odor starting to tease his eyes, "Nn..," he pressed his hood into the front door, opening it slowly. He stopped, making sure no one was awake, pulling in his lips, and rolling inside.
Rod's tires gently caressed the wooden floor, trying to be as silent as possible. He hoped that his mother's blown out scented candles would hold off his scent until morning, but the oil was already cooled by now, and its faint scent in the air was just mixing with Evelyn's blood; a flowery, metallic scent that matched Evelyn's perfume mixed with her blood back at the murder site. Rod shook his hood and his eyes focused on the ramp to the second floor. The guilt from the sight, the curdled blood, the so
Torque ~ Chapter 1Chapter 1 - "Just a City Boy, Born and Raised in South Detroit"More Like This
The muscle car could barely see past his front bumper because of the blinding fog. His treads peeled off the asphalt as his tires rolled down the empty city street - still wet from the rain. The dying stoplight hummed with his engine in the bizarre silence while the warm lights coming from inside the apartment buildings were distorted from the lingering cloud.
Detroit, where cars were inside by the time the sun set, guns, drugs; just like in the movies. Every day that passed, it felt just like those movies for him. There are good parts and bad parts everywhere, but one of the truest things he could say was that there hasn't been a dull moment in the area of Detroit he lived in; and he couldn't see himself growing up anywhere else. Something about the thrill never got old.
"EMPTY YOUR TRUNK," a man's voice echoed from an alley in the distance. The muscle car's attention on the fog quickly faded, "I SAID GIMMIE WHAT'S