Sunday, April 14, 2013

100 Words a Day 239

The engine roared between his thighs as he cranked the throttle, sending him hurtling down the arrow-straight road. He took one hand off the handlebars and changed up using a suicide shifter.

It was dangerous for a biker, especially for one in his profession, but the threat of death from even the smallest action kept him sharp.

The desert wind was muffled by his helmet, but it buffeted him as he scanned the horizon and checked his mirrors for signs of pursuit.

Eventually something began to rise up in the distance, a single distinguishing feature on an otherwise featureless landscape.

No comments:

Post a Comment