Road Rogue

Road Rogue

‘We gotta do it.’

‘Don’t want to.’

‘Have to,’ he said, holding out the lifejacket. ‘Coppa’s already onto us.’

‘But, not like this?’ Her unlaced boots tapped on the dirt as she snatched up the yellow life preserver and slipped it over her ponytail.

‘I don’t wanna do this either.’ He passed her a motorbike helmet.

‘Can’t we do it another way?’ Slapping the helmet on her head, he secured the strap beneath her chin.

‘Sure, we could sell tickets? Recoup our costs? Maybe fetch a profit to go towards our next one.’

‘But the Coppa might show up.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Or worse—grown-ups.’

‘Reckon they’d ruin it.’ He held out some swimming goggles, a pair of flippers, and a snorkel. ‘D’ya want it?’

‘Why not.’ She slipped on the hard-plastic swimming accessories. Through her goggles, she peeked at the drought-riddled farmlands where a crowd had gathered on bicycles, motorbikes, and saddled horses. ‘I’m ready,’ she said, taking a large flipper-flapping step over dry cracked earth.

‘We got top-shelf.’ He pulled her upwards and her bare knees shimmied onto the hot tin roof where they both gripped onto the metal tripod.

‘Only coz of your welding lesson’s.’

‘That’s about to be tested. Ready?’

Goggles and snorkel adjusted as plastic flippers tried to grip onto the hot metal and their small hands clasped onto the steel tripod. ‘Yeah, let’s do this.’

His foot stamped on the roof. ‘Let ‘er rip, Blu.’

The engine inside the dented, door-less, Datsun roared into life. Black smoke vomited from a missing exhaust pipe blanketing its bullet-hole riddled exterior. The wetsuit-cladded driver and co-pilot, lifted their helmet’s visors, gagging for air.

‘GO. GO. GO.’ She shouted from the roof with her knuckles whitening and her heart raced.

Beneath bald tyres, red dirt showered upwards like an inverted waterfall. Clang-attee-clang-clang the matchbox-rubber-banded engine rattled in its unsecured bedding. It Kangaroo-hopped with a crunch of gears. The chassis rattled rust free while groaning and shuddering onwards.

The crowd screamed with their arms waving in the air like whip-wielding jockey’s, urging the mashed-up mini-monster to move.

Down the dirt track, faster, and faster, they headed for the small rise. Black exhaust thickened like rope disintegrating skywards. The rat-a-tat-tat of the egg-beater’s-engine mixed with excited screams of chasing children.

‘Here we gooooooooo.’ His hand covered hers gripping the welded spotlight’s tripod. Both fought the urge to close their eyes behind fog-encroaching goggles. Smiles widened in the dusty hot wind that whipped against their exposed skin.

The engine screamed along with its passengers and with an almighty roaring rush, wheels left the rubbly rise, and as if on invisible wings, the hunk of junk flew.

Over the sun-soaking railroad track.

Over the sparkling, scattered white pebbles shining amongst the struggling weeds.

Over the shadows of the squat scrubby hill, and…

SPLASH!

Into the dam.

Brown bore water washed over the car like a tsunami chasing a surfer.

The internal passengers exited door-less gaps and splashed for the screaming spectator covered, clay banks.

A simple pirate flag, painted on Nana’s sheets, waved from the tripod. Like captains on their sinking ship, the diving-clad-duo saluted the crowd from the roof of the vehicle they’d gone road-rouge in and escorted their toy to its watery grave. ‘That Coppa aint gonna find it now.’

First published 17/08/2015

(557 words)

from   ‘MOVING MOMENTS’

MMoments R&Rramblings FB 5a

 

Date Night Drama

As a gentleman, he opened the door and she stepped inside. Then lunged like a savage, pushing her against the closing door. Chests pressed. He latched onto her locks, forcing her head back. Lips parted, licking into her sweet, hot mouth as if indulging in the intoxicating taste of a new lover.

Hearts hammered, pulses pounded. Ravenous hands raked at her skirt, while his lips lavished her smooth sensuous throat. Her purring moan a Siren’s soul song, drowning him within this tsunami of inflamed emotions.

Her knee lifted, steering his palm that slid along sumptuous silk stockings towards lace. A chesty growl escaped while touching his temptress’s sinful fleshy thighs. His mouth watered, body shuddered. Feverish fingers fondled her voluptuous curves, so soft, yielding, trembling against his hardened hunger.

Humanity surrendered, as the primal inner beast unleashed. Pinning his seductress to the wall, he rocked against Nirvana’s door.

“EWW.” From behind them, the young woman dry retched.

They froze.

“Thanks a lot! I’m scarred for life. Damaged.” Palm slapped over eyes, gagging, she staggered away with milk and cookies in hand. A door slammed and loud music erupted.

“That’s our cue.” Lifting his lady to his chest. Wrapped her legs around his waist.

Laughing, she ripped off his tie. “For once, I’m not telling her to turn the music down.”

He carried his prize along the hall. “Hey, if we keep this up the kids should move out soon. Twenty years of marriage, baby – we’ve still got it.” And kick-slammed their bedroom shut behind them.

(250 words)

Part of flash fiction collection found in HOME SWEET ~ NOT!

HSN TW2

#HOMESWEETNOT #RuralRomanticRamblings #RandRramblings

 

Tribal

The flames reflected the war paint smeared across hair and faces which only pronounced the shine in their eyes. The aroma of cooked liver and fried cables mingled with melting plastic that sizzled beneath the flames. The bass bellowed from the stereo to compete with heartbeats as adrenaline spiked to the raw heavy metal pounding their ears.

Ripped from a dream, the lights came on, and the sound stopped mid-metallic-scream.

‘What the hell is going on out here?’ The man’s voice echoed across the courtyard.

The three teens seated in the circle around the burning barbecue blinked at the light.

‘Where are my children?’

‘Here, Dad,’ they called out, waving while tied to the tree.

‘Why are you tied up?’

‘We’re the human sacrifices.’

‘What are you burning? Are you wearing my wife’s dresses, and her makeup? What kind of babysitters are you?’

‘The cheap kind–like your scotch,’ said the babysitter, skulling straight from the bottle.

(150 words)

want to see what else happens in Surburbia…

HSN TW2