Race to 200 Blogfest!

Before I get onto the actual blogfest, I want to mention that my query for NAUSICAA was featured in Evil Editor's blog, HERE...and by "featured", I of course mean put through the Evil Editor and cronies blender. ;)

I also want to mention this great recap of the latest WriteOnCon chat, written up by L.J. Boldyrev at Sisters in Scribe!

Okay, now onto the actual point of this entry!

It's time for the Race to 200 Blogfest (click on the image to find out more), and here is what's required:

"Write a story/excerpt (no more than 750 words long) about a race of some sort. It could be an actual race. Or a race for survival. Even a race against time. Be creative!" - J.C. Martin

And without further ado, here is my entry! :D According to Word, it's 649 words!

Pansy

Brendan was a dick. Everybody knew it, but it seemed he wasn't satisfied with everybody knowing—he wanted to show them.

Not that he hadn’t done so plenty of times before. But this time was different.

John was sitting in his car in the left lane, staring fixedly at the glowing red traffic light. It cast its warm light across the intersection. He saw the faint hue of the green light for the crossing street, but he saw no more than that. It didn’t have much impact on the red. Beyond the lights was a t-junction.

He was trying his best to ignore Brendan and his absolutely dicky friends in the next lane, their lime green Ford Falcon chugging away like a race car. But it was hard to ignore their booming voices. And their stinking exhaust. They’d turned their music down, presumably so they could hear themselves better. Or maybe so John could hear them. How considerate. Usually John would have turned his music way up, to drown it all out. But his speakers were messed up and silence was preferable to the painful buzz-crackle they emitted.

Usually, it was preferable.

He was wondering if time to embrace it, just so he could drown in noise and pretend Brendan didn’t exist. It was always nice when he could pretend that.

“Oy, pansy, what’s it gonna be?!”

Brendan’s voice rang through the night. John clenched his jaw and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, willing that red traffic light to turn eerie green. The red seemed to mock him, saying, Nah, we’re gonna sit on this a while, see how much you can take.

“I think he’s deaf, ay!” Brendan’s cousin Larry hooted. “Or wait, I know what it is—he’s got a crush on you mate!” And the laughter was deafening.

John swore to himself he was getting his stereo fixed first thing in the morning. He’d been putting it off, saving for a new car, but he wouldn’t be ready for that for months—and he couldn’t stand another night like this. The kind of night you couldn’t drown out in music.

“PANSY, PANSY, PANSY...!” The chant wore on, and John daydreamed of running the red light.

And then that red light was green. Both cars sat in their lanes, not moving.

John had been here before. It was better to let Brendan tear off, so you weren’t in danger of getting in his way. Getting in his way could mean being run off the road. John had been here before. But Brendan wasn’t moving.

“What, you don’t wanna race me?!”

John gave no answer.

“Hey dude,” Brendan said to somebody else in his car, “why don’t you get out and hop in the pansy’s car? He can show you a good time!”

Much more hooting laughter, and John imagined that maybe Brendan’s car was rocking with it. Then one of the doors opened, and John knew it was time to act. The light was still green, but it could turn amber at any moment. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator, hearing a door slam and a bunch of dicks shouting. He was rounding the corner, resisting the urge to start speeding. Then he heard squealing tyres and the lime green beast flashed past, cutting in front of him.

He leaped on the brakes and his car shuddered to a stop, giving himself mini-whiplash. Then he looked up, through the windscreen, and saw Brendan’s car half stuck into the embankment of the t-junction. Steam rose from the bonnet, hissing in the night.

With zombie-like motions John took out his mobile phone and dialled triple zero.

“Emergency, how may I direct your call?”

“Um... Yeah. Some dicks just had a car crash.”

“All right then. What is your location?”