Sunday, October 11, 2015

100 Words a Day 718

The tires of the mighty speed demon tore at the ancient tarmac, the claw-like grooves sent gravel and bits of debris flying. The deep roar issuing from its twin tailpipes echoed through the shattered canyon. The pipes shook as though in anger at the pace, necessarily slowed by the many twists and turns of the ancient fissure. Rider and machine were one, the man’s riding leathers matched the ebon saddle of the chrome beast. His face was concealed behind a grinning skull helmet. Often, the superstitious inhabitants of the plains mistook him for some vengeful spirit riding a howling demon.  

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