username: dreams; name: roman gender: male
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the wind shrilled past the closed window, making the young boy's ears ring - reminiscent of the days spent in grade school. he was always staring at the clock, even way back when his only worry was catching the school bus. this time he stared at his car radio, watching the blinking 3:24 LED display. it was so late, he wondered if his mom ever noticed his absence: the cold sheets, the mattress firmed to his body's shape even when he wasn't there, like a ghost of his spirit left behind. he rarely spent a full night sleeping, but his mom didn't need to know that.
maybe his (somewhat dangerous) hobby started in the beginning of sophomore year in high school, when his father walked out of his life - rather unintentionally. it wasn't his fault, that he had gone out to buy milk at night, for his son's cereal that he would eat the next day. it wasn't his fault that the cops mistook a milk gallon for a weapon and shot him without a second thought - it was practically a religious code for cops to follow: shoot first, ask later. roman's grip tightened on the steering wheel, memories were a powerful thing and he hated how the strongest always managed to creep up on him. they made him feel terrible, remembering how the cops got away with it. he hated them, it was the kind of anger that involuntarily bubbled out of your body. the kind that encourage swinging your bare fists into an unbreakable car window, again and again to get a smidgen of pain that wouldn't make you feel so numb anymore.
but maybe that wasn't it. maybe, roman was just born with a thirst for danger and an even bigger lust for pain. even at the age of seven, he would climb to the highest point of the playground and just stand there, like a defiant bigger than life figure, staring down at the teachers in an almost taunting way. the way his eyes read 'come get me' or the way he took fall after fall, scrape after scrape in an elegant way. the way his glasses broke, yet he came to school the following week with a new pair. he was loved, he knew, this made him virtually indestructible and untouchable by all the other kids. roman didn't need friends when his favorite companion was danger (and his parents, but he's not keen on telling).
this night was like most nights, it started with a silent dinner with his mom, they didn't speak. they were much happier leaving feelings unsaid and pain untouched - buried deep in their chests like the very heart they were born with. it beat alongside them, a constant reminder of who they lost and what went unsaid by the them. it was the words of a drunk store clerk that watched the horrific event unfold against the entire cop department of their town.
the silent dinner would end. they'd go to their respective rooms. his mom would cry quietly like usual, watch tv for a bit and then mutter her usual prayer before bed. it tore roman, the routine she fell into. his wasn't any better. he sat on his bed, rigidly still, listening for his mom. waiting. when her light turned off he waited ten minutes, before exiting through the house's back door, trudging to his car parked down the street. he'd never tell his mom what he did, she'd hate him for it. being so close to the cops, she'd tell him to stop being so stupid. maybe being stupid went hand in hand with loving the exhilaration and freedom that danger gave you. his life and well being was a small price to pay, when he would briefly feel the same joy that taking risks as a kid brought. sometimes, he felt like his dad would come out of his room that he shared with his mother, to scold him for ripping his new jeans at school. roman's dad was caring, always opposing his thrill for perilous adventures, and that's why he was the best ever.
maybe, it hurt roman so much, he wanted to anger his dad so much he spontaneously came back to life to give him a talking to. rising from the ground, bullet shot disappearing and the warmth and life returning to his eyes.
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roman glanced from the radio up to the car's front window. he cursed under his breath, his opponent had managed to speed past him when he had been in his reverie. his foot pressed down on the gas, he felt the car underneath his feet give a jolt of protest before speeding up at a steady pace. he began edging up next to his opponent. roman felt himself consider his options - payday was tomorrow at the auto body shop he worked at. he was sure his boss would be so drunk he wouldn't notice some extra money going missing. without a second thought afterwords, roman rammed the side of his car into the rear tail ending of his opponent.
ok, so roman may play a little dirty, who wouldn't? the car in front of him skidded to the left, partially skidding onto the wheat fields beside it. roman involuntarily let out a snicker of enjoyment, he couldn't see the poor guy's face, but he'd imagine his life just flashed before his eyes. maybe, at one point, he'd been scared of dying. however, he found it comforting how he would always live in someone's memory, whether good or bad, he'd make a lasting impact. he was fearless and jagged around the edges, a messed up ideologically that just begged for help.
the king of the streets watched as his opponent's turquoise trashy car slowed down, roman slowed down beside it as well. a small fractured frown remained on his lips, he'd expect them to put up more of a fight before giving up. one (mediocre) hit to the car, and they just gave up like that? he felt a little disappointed in them, the spark in his opponent's eyes held the power of those who always aim to reach higher. maybe, they didn't feel too good aiming their car's front into a fear of wheat (possibly watched child of the corn). or, maybe, the reality hadn't set it until their car's motor roared. the vibration's in one's chest, any words spoken in that moment would be drowned by the motor. it was possibly that that scared many others. not dying, just dying alone.
he exited his car, not so nicely slamming his car's doors. roman stuffed his hands in his worn northface wooly sweater, while leaning on the hood of his car. his eyes stay focused on the car beside him, particularly the owner. his muscles were taught, ready to lash out if his partner backed out.
nobody challenged the king of the streets, unless they were a newbie that thought they had 'it'. maybe this person did have that special something, maybe all his opponents did, he just cut them off too soon before they had a chance to excel in the racing scene.
he had to admit, he had a bit of a god complex. he knew people in college taunted him. the king of saint mark community college, he wore his pride like a tyrant would wear his crown.
roman heard car sirens in the distance, it wasn't long before they got here. more importantly, it was only a matter of time before his mom got up at five am to go to work. "hurry up," he spoke in a gruff voice, his voice hadn't been used in a while, it was rough around the edges but oozed confidently like honey. his opponent let out a meek sorry, before digging i their car's glove compartment and exiting with a wad of cash in hand. their were no pleasantries exchanged, just a mutual good bye (and keep quiet warning) before both cars tore out in different directions.
what's a king without his crown? it was never his pride that kept him racing to be the best. it wasn't his thrill for danger either. the crown sat nicely beside him in the passenger's seat. it was green and papery, smelling of the several hands it passed by. it brought his mom the nicest things, to maybe, bring light back in her eyes. if he couldn't do it for his father, maybe he could do it for her.
at his core, before his daredevil fiend personality, he was a son. he was his mother's prince, and the town's street king.
[word count: 1,439]
the wind shrilled past the closed window, making the young boy's ears ring - reminiscent of the days spent in grade school. he was always staring at the clock, even way back when his only worry was catching the school bus. this time he stared at his car radio, watching the blinking 3:24 LED display. it was so late, he wondered if his mom ever noticed his absence: the cold sheets, the mattress firmed to his body's shape even when he wasn't there, like a ghost of his spirit left behind. he rarely spent a full night sleeping, but his mom didn't need to know that.
maybe his (somewhat dangerous) hobby started in the beginning of sophomore year in high school, when his father walked out of his life - rather unintentionally. it wasn't his fault, that he had gone out to buy milk at night, for his son's cereal that he would eat the next day. it wasn't his fault that the cops mistook a milk gallon for a weapon and shot him without a second thought - it was practically a religious code for cops to follow: shoot first, ask later. roman's grip tightened on the steering wheel, memories were a powerful thing and he hated how the strongest always managed to creep up on him. they made him feel terrible, remembering how the cops got away with it. he hated them, it was the kind of anger that involuntarily bubbled out of your body. the kind that encourage swinging your bare fists into an unbreakable car window, again and again to get a smidgen of pain that wouldn't make you feel so numb anymore.
but maybe that wasn't it. maybe, roman was just born with a thirst for danger and an even bigger lust for pain. even at the age of seven, he would climb to the highest point of the playground and just stand there, like a defiant bigger than life figure, staring down at the teachers in an almost taunting way. the way his eyes read 'come get me' or the way he took fall after fall, scrape after scrape in an elegant way. the way his glasses broke, yet he came to school the following week with a new pair. he was loved, he knew, this made him virtually indestructible and untouchable by all the other kids. roman didn't need friends when his favorite companion was danger (and his parents, but he's not keen on telling).
this night was like most nights, it started with a silent dinner with his mom, they didn't speak. they were much happier leaving feelings unsaid and pain untouched - buried deep in their chests like the very heart they were born with. it beat alongside them, a constant reminder of who they lost and what went unsaid by the them. it was the words of a drunk store clerk that watched the horrific event unfold against the entire cop department of their town.
the silent dinner would end. they'd go to their respective rooms. his mom would cry quietly like usual, watch tv for a bit and then mutter her usual prayer before bed. it tore roman, the routine she fell into. his wasn't any better. he sat on his bed, rigidly still, listening for his mom. waiting. when her light turned off he waited ten minutes, before exiting through the house's back door, trudging to his car parked down the street. he'd never tell his mom what he did, she'd hate him for it. being so close to the cops, she'd tell him to stop being so stupid. maybe being stupid went hand in hand with loving the exhilaration and freedom that danger gave you. his life and well being was a small price to pay, when he would briefly feel the same joy that taking risks as a kid brought. sometimes, he felt like his dad would come out of his room that he shared with his mother, to scold him for ripping his new jeans at school. roman's dad was caring, always opposing his thrill for perilous adventures, and that's why he was the best ever.
maybe, it hurt roman so much, he wanted to anger his dad so much he spontaneously came back to life to give him a talking to. rising from the ground, bullet shot disappearing and the warmth and life returning to his eyes.
───────────────( ♔ )───────────────
roman glanced from the radio up to the car's front window. he cursed under his breath, his opponent had managed to speed past him when he had been in his reverie. his foot pressed down on the gas, he felt the car underneath his feet give a jolt of protest before speeding up at a steady pace. he began edging up next to his opponent. roman felt himself consider his options - payday was tomorrow at the auto body shop he worked at. he was sure his boss would be so drunk he wouldn't notice some extra money going missing. without a second thought afterwords, roman rammed the side of his car into the rear tail ending of his opponent.
ok, so roman may play a little dirty, who wouldn't? the car in front of him skidded to the left, partially skidding onto the wheat fields beside it. roman involuntarily let out a snicker of enjoyment, he couldn't see the poor guy's face, but he'd imagine his life just flashed before his eyes. maybe, at one point, he'd been scared of dying. however, he found it comforting how he would always live in someone's memory, whether good or bad, he'd make a lasting impact. he was fearless and jagged around the edges, a messed up ideologically that just begged for help.
the king of the streets watched as his opponent's turquoise trashy car slowed down, roman slowed down beside it as well. a small fractured frown remained on his lips, he'd expect them to put up more of a fight before giving up. one (mediocre) hit to the car, and they just gave up like that? he felt a little disappointed in them, the spark in his opponent's eyes held the power of those who always aim to reach higher. maybe, they didn't feel too good aiming their car's front into a fear of wheat (possibly watched child of the corn). or, maybe, the reality hadn't set it until their car's motor roared. the vibration's in one's chest, any words spoken in that moment would be drowned by the motor. it was possibly that that scared many others. not dying, just dying alone.
he exited his car, not so nicely slamming his car's doors. roman stuffed his hands in his worn northface wooly sweater, while leaning on the hood of his car. his eyes stay focused on the car beside him, particularly the owner. his muscles were taught, ready to lash out if his partner backed out.
nobody challenged the king of the streets, unless they were a newbie that thought they had 'it'. maybe this person did have that special something, maybe all his opponents did, he just cut them off too soon before they had a chance to excel in the racing scene.
he had to admit, he had a bit of a god complex. he knew people in college taunted him. the king of saint mark community college, he wore his pride like a tyrant would wear his crown.
roman heard car sirens in the distance, it wasn't long before they got here. more importantly, it was only a matter of time before his mom got up at five am to go to work. "hurry up," he spoke in a gruff voice, his voice hadn't been used in a while, it was rough around the edges but oozed confidently like honey. his opponent let out a meek sorry, before digging i their car's glove compartment and exiting with a wad of cash in hand. their were no pleasantries exchanged, just a mutual good bye (and keep quiet warning) before both cars tore out in different directions.
what's a king without his crown? it was never his pride that kept him racing to be the best. it wasn't his thrill for danger either. the crown sat nicely beside him in the passenger's seat. it was green and papery, smelling of the several hands it passed by. it brought his mom the nicest things, to maybe, bring light back in her eyes. if he couldn't do it for his father, maybe he could do it for her.
at his core, before his daredevil fiend personality, he was a son. he was his mother's prince, and the town's street king.
[word count: 1,439]
