SkylerOcon
Tiny Dancer
This is something I've been working on for a while. I think I like how this version turned out much better than the original.
Thank you to Crimson King, who helped quite a bit with this.
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A rusted, black exterior of an abandoned 1979 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. A youth walked up to the side of the car and pops open the gasoline tank. He lifts up a jug and refills the car. Once he’s sure that the car has a full gas tank, he walks up to the front and mutters “I can’t believe nobody did this before…”. He then gets under the dash and splices the two red wires and starts up the car.
The boy grinned as his hands gripped the white, leather steering wheel. He began to slowly drive the car out of the sandy ditch on the side of the road where the antique car had long since been abandoned.
The sound of the wheels grinding on the gravel of the road’s shoulder melded into the sound of wheels gliding across the asphalt on the main road. The boy was surprised that the car was still ran this good – it was made nearly thirty years ago, and it was moving like it was built just a few days ago. The tires had plenty enough air, it was filled to the brim with oil, and it didn’t feel like there was anything wrong with it - the only thing that could use touching up was the paint. “I can’t wait until I can tell Snickers about this!”
Jackson continued to guide the car down the road. His parents had always told him that if he wanted his own car, he would have to buy it himself. Instead of spending thousands of dollars on one, why not just find one? He told his parents that they were in for a surprise, but doubted that they expected this. He was concerned about how he would explain the car to his parents, but he was sure that they would be pleased with the idea of a free car and wouldn’t ask many questions.
Jackson soon turned onto a street that led to his friend Snickers’ house. He arrived, and walked up to the house and rang the doorbell.
“Hey, man!” said Snickers. “How’s it goin’!”
“Good. I got a car,” Jackson said.
“Nice! Where’d you get it?”
“A ditch from the side of the road. I hotwired it.”
“What? Now you’re just bragging.”
“It’s the truth. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Alright.”
Jackson and Snickers jumped into the Trans Am. Immediately after getting in, Snickers began to bounce up and down in his seat.
“Dude, it’s a new car! Stop doing that!” Jackson said.
“Are you kidding? This thing is like thirty years old!” Snickers said.
Jackson sighed. He knew that Snickers was right. “Just buckle your seatbelt.” Hearing the click of his friend’s seatbelt, he began to pull out of the driveway.
The car glided down the street. “Dude, be careful at that stop sign! There’s a cop,” Snickers said.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson stopped in front of the sign, turned out onto the highway, and drove off. “Where to now?”
“I dunno,” Snickers sighed. “The mall?”
“No way. It’s Black Friday!”
“Good point. I would suggest turning off here, then. You’re heading right towards the mall.”
“Alright,” Jackson began to turn off the road. Suddenly, a banshee’s wail filled the car; red and blue lights seemed to be everywhere.
Police sirens began to flash. “Ah!” Jackson said. The sirens yanked him out of his own thoughts. He was now faced with a much more serious problem than explaining this to his parents – he had to explain himself to the cops. Moving the car over to the side of the road, Jackson waited for the police officer to walk up and talk to him. To him, it felt as if the officer was taking this long a time on purpose. The long, tedious wait felt much worse to Jackson than what he had expected. Unbearable and infuriating, the lectures from parents would never prepare you for the real thing.
Just as Jackson was starting to give up on the Officer ever showing up, there was a knock at his window. “Mind opening up, son?” It was much more of a demand than a question.
Gripping the window crank, Jackson began to pull the window down. Scared, he said, “Yes sir?” Jackson began to examine the officer. He was wearing the traditional blue suit and sunglasses. As if to compliment the stereotype, the Officer had a beer belly.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” the officer said.
Jackson had heard being funny could get the cops off of his back so he decided to try that. “I would like to say the speed limit, but I would be lying.” The Officer frowned. Jackson immediately thought, ‘bad idea’.
The officer said, “That would be lying. You were going sixty-seven in a sixty mile per hour zone. May I see your license and registration, please?”
Jackson froze. He didn’t have any of that. I can’t believe this, he thought, how could I have been so careless! Not knowing where else to look, he opened the glove box. It popped open. There was a gun, covered in dried blood.
“Put your hands up. Get out of the car slowly,” demanded the officer. He yanked out a gun and pointed it an Jackson.
“This isn’t mine!” Jackson said. “I just found this car off the side of the road and hotwired it! I didn’t shoot anybody!”
The officer took off his sunglasses with his free hand. “Get out of the car.”
Jackson shook out of the car. He hardly realized the cold steel clasp onto his hands and another officer, presumably the first one’s partner, him into the cruiser. If the situation had been any less serious, Jackson would have laughed at the box of donuts that were visible through the Plexiglas dividers in the back.
The first Officer turned towards Snickers. “Open your glove box.”
“Y-yes sir!” Snickers said. A loud pop only presented a bag of cocaine.
“You too. Out.”
Snickers tottered out of the car and received the same treatment as Jackson. Grabbing his hair in frustration, Snicker’s began to curse under his breath.
Tears began to roll down Jackson’s cheek. He knew that there was no way out of this. He had to choose the car with the gun in it. He had to choose the car with the drugs in it. He had to choose to drive back down the road that the cop would be on. There’s no way out of this, Jackson thought. I’m through.
Thank you to Crimson King, who helped quite a bit with this.
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A rusted, black exterior of an abandoned 1979 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. A youth walked up to the side of the car and pops open the gasoline tank. He lifts up a jug and refills the car. Once he’s sure that the car has a full gas tank, he walks up to the front and mutters “I can’t believe nobody did this before…”. He then gets under the dash and splices the two red wires and starts up the car.
The boy grinned as his hands gripped the white, leather steering wheel. He began to slowly drive the car out of the sandy ditch on the side of the road where the antique car had long since been abandoned.
The sound of the wheels grinding on the gravel of the road’s shoulder melded into the sound of wheels gliding across the asphalt on the main road. The boy was surprised that the car was still ran this good – it was made nearly thirty years ago, and it was moving like it was built just a few days ago. The tires had plenty enough air, it was filled to the brim with oil, and it didn’t feel like there was anything wrong with it - the only thing that could use touching up was the paint. “I can’t wait until I can tell Snickers about this!”
Jackson continued to guide the car down the road. His parents had always told him that if he wanted his own car, he would have to buy it himself. Instead of spending thousands of dollars on one, why not just find one? He told his parents that they were in for a surprise, but doubted that they expected this. He was concerned about how he would explain the car to his parents, but he was sure that they would be pleased with the idea of a free car and wouldn’t ask many questions.
Jackson soon turned onto a street that led to his friend Snickers’ house. He arrived, and walked up to the house and rang the doorbell.
“Hey, man!” said Snickers. “How’s it goin’!”
“Good. I got a car,” Jackson said.
“Nice! Where’d you get it?”
“A ditch from the side of the road. I hotwired it.”
“What? Now you’re just bragging.”
“It’s the truth. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Alright.”
Jackson and Snickers jumped into the Trans Am. Immediately after getting in, Snickers began to bounce up and down in his seat.
“Dude, it’s a new car! Stop doing that!” Jackson said.
“Are you kidding? This thing is like thirty years old!” Snickers said.
Jackson sighed. He knew that Snickers was right. “Just buckle your seatbelt.” Hearing the click of his friend’s seatbelt, he began to pull out of the driveway.
The car glided down the street. “Dude, be careful at that stop sign! There’s a cop,” Snickers said.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson stopped in front of the sign, turned out onto the highway, and drove off. “Where to now?”
“I dunno,” Snickers sighed. “The mall?”
“No way. It’s Black Friday!”
“Good point. I would suggest turning off here, then. You’re heading right towards the mall.”
“Alright,” Jackson began to turn off the road. Suddenly, a banshee’s wail filled the car; red and blue lights seemed to be everywhere.
Police sirens began to flash. “Ah!” Jackson said. The sirens yanked him out of his own thoughts. He was now faced with a much more serious problem than explaining this to his parents – he had to explain himself to the cops. Moving the car over to the side of the road, Jackson waited for the police officer to walk up and talk to him. To him, it felt as if the officer was taking this long a time on purpose. The long, tedious wait felt much worse to Jackson than what he had expected. Unbearable and infuriating, the lectures from parents would never prepare you for the real thing.
Just as Jackson was starting to give up on the Officer ever showing up, there was a knock at his window. “Mind opening up, son?” It was much more of a demand than a question.
Gripping the window crank, Jackson began to pull the window down. Scared, he said, “Yes sir?” Jackson began to examine the officer. He was wearing the traditional blue suit and sunglasses. As if to compliment the stereotype, the Officer had a beer belly.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” the officer said.
Jackson had heard being funny could get the cops off of his back so he decided to try that. “I would like to say the speed limit, but I would be lying.” The Officer frowned. Jackson immediately thought, ‘bad idea’.
The officer said, “That would be lying. You were going sixty-seven in a sixty mile per hour zone. May I see your license and registration, please?”
Jackson froze. He didn’t have any of that. I can’t believe this, he thought, how could I have been so careless! Not knowing where else to look, he opened the glove box. It popped open. There was a gun, covered in dried blood.
“Put your hands up. Get out of the car slowly,” demanded the officer. He yanked out a gun and pointed it an Jackson.
“This isn’t mine!” Jackson said. “I just found this car off the side of the road and hotwired it! I didn’t shoot anybody!”
The officer took off his sunglasses with his free hand. “Get out of the car.”
Jackson shook out of the car. He hardly realized the cold steel clasp onto his hands and another officer, presumably the first one’s partner, him into the cruiser. If the situation had been any less serious, Jackson would have laughed at the box of donuts that were visible through the Plexiglas dividers in the back.
The first Officer turned towards Snickers. “Open your glove box.”
“Y-yes sir!” Snickers said. A loud pop only presented a bag of cocaine.
“You too. Out.”
Snickers tottered out of the car and received the same treatment as Jackson. Grabbing his hair in frustration, Snicker’s began to curse under his breath.
Tears began to roll down Jackson’s cheek. He knew that there was no way out of this. He had to choose the car with the gun in it. He had to choose the car with the drugs in it. He had to choose to drive back down the road that the cop would be on. There’s no way out of this, Jackson thought. I’m through.
