Diamonds in the Sky [Fan Fiction]
On his way west James picked up a hitch hiker, a young woman carrying a paper bag and a leather purse, wearing jeans and a shawl--which she didn't take off, though it was more than ninety degrees out and James had no air conditioning. He was driving an old Toyota Camry with a bad valve system and one long crack in the windshield. He pulled over for her, and she got right in, put the leather purse on the seat between them, and settled herself with the paper bag on her lap between her hands. He had just crossed into Texas from Oklahoma. This was the third day of the trip.
"Where you headed?" he asked.
She said, "What about you?"
"LA, maybe."
"Why maybe?"
And that fast he was answering her questions. "I just graduated college," he told her, though that wasn't exactly the truth. He decided to take a year off from his graduate program after he spent two months in the county jail for assaulting a man at a local bar. He was a bad character. He had a bad temper that got him into plenty of trouble already, and he just wanted to go to LA, to wide open spaces. Just to experience it, really. He had a feeling that people didn't require as much from a person where there was that kind of room.
He didn't have any family now. He had a one-hundred thousand dollars from his father's life insurance policy, and he was going to make the money last a while. He said, "I'm trying to figure out a lot right now."
"Not me," she said.
"You figure out where you're going?"
"You could say that."
"What are you thinking?"
She made a fist and then extended her thumb, and turned it over. "Under," she said. "Down."
"I don't understand what that means."
"Does the radio work?" she asked, reaching for it.
"It's broken," he said.
She pressed the button anyway. Then she sat back and folded her arms over the paper bag.
He took a glance at her. She was skinny and long-necked, and her hair was the color of dark chocolate. She looked just old enough for high school.
"What's in the bag?" he said.
She sat up a little. "Nothing. Another blouse."
"So what did you mean back there?"
"Back where?"
"Look," he said, "we don't have to do any talking if you don't want to."
"Then what will we do?"
"Whatever you want" he said.
"What if I just want to sit here and let you drive me all the way to LA?"
"That's fine," he said. "I don't mind."
"Well, I wouldn't want to do that. We can talk."
"Are you going to LA?" he asked.
She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "Why not?"
"Sounds like we have a plan," he said, and for some reason he offered her his hand. She looked at it and then smiled at him, and he put his hand back on the wheel.
"Where you headed?" he asked.
She said, "What about you?"
"LA, maybe."
"Why maybe?"
And that fast he was answering her questions. "I just graduated college," he told her, though that wasn't exactly the truth. He decided to take a year off from his graduate program after he spent two months in the county jail for assaulting a man at a local bar. He was a bad character. He had a bad temper that got him into plenty of trouble already, and he just wanted to go to LA, to wide open spaces. Just to experience it, really. He had a feeling that people didn't require as much from a person where there was that kind of room.
He didn't have any family now. He had a one-hundred thousand dollars from his father's life insurance policy, and he was going to make the money last a while. He said, "I'm trying to figure out a lot right now."
"Not me," she said.
"You figure out where you're going?"
"You could say that."
"What are you thinking?"
She made a fist and then extended her thumb, and turned it over. "Under," she said. "Down."
"I don't understand what that means."
"Does the radio work?" she asked, reaching for it.
"It's broken," he said.
She pressed the button anyway. Then she sat back and folded her arms over the paper bag.
He took a glance at her. She was skinny and long-necked, and her hair was the color of dark chocolate. She looked just old enough for high school.
"What's in the bag?" he said.
She sat up a little. "Nothing. Another blouse."
"So what did you mean back there?"
"Back where?"
"Look," he said, "we don't have to do any talking if you don't want to."
"Then what will we do?"
"Whatever you want" he said.
"What if I just want to sit here and let you drive me all the way to LA?"
"That's fine," he said. "I don't mind."
"Well, I wouldn't want to do that. We can talk."
"Are you going to LA?" he asked.
She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "Why not?"
"Sounds like we have a plan," he said, and for some reason he offered her his hand. She looked at it and then smiled at him, and he put his hand back on the wheel.
To Be Continued...
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Comments
JK
Had to get you back for my thread
good work
God," she said, " I was out cold."
"You hungry?" he asked.
"No."
"What's your name?"
"Harleen Quinzel," she said, and, winking at him, made a clicking noise out the side of her mouth.
"Harleen. I've never met anyone named Harleen before," he said.
"Don't you know who Harleen Quinzel is?"
All he knew was that it was a familiar sounding name. "Harleen Quinzel..." he thought out loud.
She put her index fingerto the side of his head and said, "Want me to take care of him, Mr. J?" with her best Brooklyn accent.
"Nothing."
"Come on," she said. "Harley Quinn? Batman?"
"Oh," he said. " I remember her now. I used to watch the Batman cartoon when I was kid."
"That's me," she said, sliding down into her chair. "Harleen Quinzel."
"That's not your real name."
"It's the only one I got these days."
They rode in silence for a time.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He told her.
"Boring."
"I guess. It's pretty common."
"Where you from, James?"
"Berkeley."
"Where's that?"
"It's next to San Francisco. Ever heard of UC Berkeley? It's kind of a big deal."
"Nope" she said almost flippantly. "Long way from home."
"I haven't been there in years."
"Where have you been?"
"Harvard and a little time in jail," he said. He hadn't known he would say it and now that he had he kept his eyes on the road. He might as well been posing for her; he had an image of himself as he must look from the side, and he shifted his weight a little, sat up straight. When he stole a glance at her, he saw that she was simply gazing out the window, one hand up like a visor to shade her eyes.
"What about you? he asked, and felt like somebody in a movie--two people with a past come together on the open road. He wondered how he could get the talk around the subject of love.
"What about me?"
"Where you from?"
"I don't want to bore you with all the facts," she said.
"I don't mind," James said. "FYI, nerds love facts."
"I'm from way up north"
"Okay," he said, "you want me to guess?"
"Maine," she said. "Land of moose and lobster."
He said, "Maine. I don't know much about it, except it's famous for lobster."
"See?" she said. "The facts are just a lot of things that don't change. Nothing exciting."
"Unless you change them," James said.
She reached down and, with elaborate care, as if it were fragile, put the paper bag on the floor. Then she leaned back and put her feet up on the dash. She was wearing low-cut Converse.
"You going to sleep?" he asked.
"Just relaxing," she said. But a moment later, when he asked if she wanted to stop and eat, she didn't answer. He looked over and saw that she was sound asleep.
All is fair in love and war. lol It doesn't bother me. But thanks.
“Where are we?”
“New Mexico,” he said. “I’m looking for a place to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well,” he said, “you might be able to go all day without eating, but I got a three-meal-a-day habit to support.”
She brought the paper bag up from the floor and held it in her lap.
“You got food in there?”
“No.”
“You’re cute--childlike, sort of, when you sleep.”
“I didn’t snore?”
“You were quiet as a mouse.”
“And you think I’m cute.”
“Yeah. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“I don’t like dirty remarks,” she said. “But I guess you didn’t mean to be dirty.”
“Dirty?” he asked
“Sometimes people can say a thing like that and mean it very dirty, but I could tell you didn’t.”
He pulled in at a roadside diner and turned the ignition off. “Well?” he said.
She sat there with the bag on her lap. “I don’t think I’ll go in with you.”
“You can have a cold drink or something.” he said.
“You go in. I’ll wait out here.”
“Come in there with me and have a cold drink,” James said. “I’lll buy it for you. I’ll buy you dinner, if you want.”
“I don’t want to,” she said.
He got out and started for the entrance, and before he could reach it, he heard her door open and close, and turned to watch her come toward him, thin and waiflike in the shawl, which her arms and hands.
The diner was empty. A long, low counter ran along one side, with soda fountains and glass cases in which pies and cakes were set. There were booths along one wall. Everything seemed in order, except on one was around.
James and the girl stood in the doorway for a moment and waited, and finally she stepped in and took a seat in the first booth. “I guess we’re supposed to seat ourselves,” she said.
“This is weird,” James said.
“Hey,” she said, rising. “A jukebox.” She strode over to it and leaned on it, crossing one leg behind the other at the ankle, her hair falling down to hide her face.
“Hello?” james said. “Anybody here?”
“Got any change?” the girl asked.
He gave her a quarter and then sat at the counter. A door at the fat end of the diner swung out and a big, pasty looking man entered, wearing a white cook’s apron over a sweat stained baby-blue shirt, the sleeves of which had rolled up past the meaty curve of his elbows. He walked towards James with a strange gait, like his leg was injured.
“You open?” James asked.
right so looking at this you need to work on your flow of words and instead of jumping around the situations and area's people blend them together more because imo saying one thing about a person then using a comma to then move on to place is jarring..
I don't know what you're talking about. This isn't helpful. You couldn't be anymore vague. Why not point out passages and edit passages since you seem to be in such a generous spirit to help.
“You open?” James said, as the girl came and sat down beside him.
“I guess maybe I am.”
“Place is kind of empty.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“You got a menu?”
“You want a menu?”
“Sure,” James said. “Why not.”
“Truth is,” the big man said, “I’m selling this place. I don’t have menus anymore. I make hamburgers and breakfast stuff. Some french fries and cold drinks. I’m not keeping track.”
“Let’s go somewhere else,” the girl said.
“Yeah,” the big man said, “why don’t you do that.”
“Hold on,” James said, “what’s the story here? You open or not?”
The other man shrugged. “You came in at the end of a run, you know what I mean?” I’m going out of business. Sit down and I’ll make you a hamburger, on the house.”
James looked at the girl.
“Okay,” she said, in a tone that made it clear that she would've been happier to leave.
The big man put his hands on the bar and leaned toward her. “Miss, if I were you, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I don’t like hamburger,” she said.
“You want a hot dog?” the man said. “I got a hot dog for you. Guaranteed to please.”
“I’ll have some french fries,” she said.
The big man turned to the grill and opened the metal drawer under it. He was very wide at the hip, and his legs were like tree trunks. “I got out of the Army after twenty years,” he said, “and I got a little money put aside. The wife and I decided we want to get into the restaurant business. The government’s going to be paying me a nice pension, and we got the savings, so we sink it all in this Goddamn diner. Six and a half miles from the interstate. You get the picture? The guy’s selling us this diner at a great price, you know? A terrific price. For a song, I’m in the restaurant business. The wife will cook the food and I’ll wait tables, you know, until we start to make a little extra, and then we’ll hire somebody--a high school kid, or somebody like that. We might even open another restaurant., if the going gets good enough for that. But, of course, this is New Mexico. This is six and a half miles from the interstate. You know what’s up the road? Nothing.” He had put the hamburger on, and a blanket of frozen french fries. “Now the wife decides she’s had enough of like on the border, and off she goes to Seattle to sit in the rain with her mother, and here I am trying to sell a place nobody else is dumb enough to buy. You know what I mean?”
“That’s rough,” James said.
“You’re the second customer I’ve had all week, bub.”
The girl said, “I guess that cash register’s empty, then, huh.”
“It ain’t full, honey.”
She got up and wandered across the room. For a while she stood gazing out the windows over the booths, her hands invisible under the wooden shawl. When she came back to sit next to James again, the hamburger and french fries were ready.
“On the house,” the big man said.
And the girl brought a gun out from under the shawl--a pistol that looked like a toy. “Suppose you open up that register, Mr. Pooh Mouth,” she said.
The big man looked at her, then at James, who had taken a large bite of his hamburger and had it bulging from his cheeks.
“This thing is loaded, and I’ll use it.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake,” the big man said.
James started to get off the stool. “Hold on a minute,” he said to them both, his words garbled by the mouthful of food, and then everything started happening at once. The girl aimed the pistol. There was a popping sound--a single small pop, not much louder than the sound of a firecracker--and the big man took a step back, into the dishes and pans. He stared at the girl, wide eyed, for what seemed like a long time, and then went down, pulling dishes with him in a tremendous shattering.
but as an example explain the situation more instead of adding some information at the end like for example
the girls shawl why mention it at the end and she's not wearing it ?
you could of said, on an abandoned road a young girl walks in a westerly direction, carrying a leather purse with a shawl under her arm.. or even leave out the material of the purse and have another character in this case james ask what it's made of, you don't have to be so detailed when narrating when you can use a character to do it, this then gives characters more depth and something to say. over use of comma's also break up the flow they are for a pause or to allow the reader to take a breath.
the story has potential though do you just type it or do you proof read it before submitting it ? i re read mine and usually edit it to make it flow better and roll of the tongue easily.
She put the pistol back in her jeans, under the shawl, and then went around the counter and opened the cash register. "Damn," she said.
James said, low, "what the fuck."
And now she looked at him; it was as if she had forgotten he was there. "Why are you standing there with your hands up like that?"
"Shit," he said, "oh shit."
"Stop it," she said. "Put your hands down."
He did so.
"Cash register's empty." She sat down on one of the stools and gazed over at the body at the body of the man where it had fallen. "Damn."
"Look," James said, "take my car. You can have my car."
She seemed puzzled. "I don't want your car. What do I want a car for?"
"You--" he said. He couldn't talk, couldn't focus clearly, or think. He looked at the man, who lay very still, and he began to cry.
"Will you stop it?" she said, coming off the stool, reaching under the shawl and bringing out the pistol again.
"No," he said, "please no."
She pointed the pistol at his forehead. "Bang," she said. "What's my name?"
"Your--- name?"
"My name."
"Harleen-- " he managed.
"Come on," she said. "The whole thing. You remember."
"Harleen-- Harleen Quinzel."
"Right." She let the gun hand drop to her side, into one of the fold of the shawl. "I like that so much better than Harley Quinn."
"Please," James said.
She took a few steps away from him and then whirled and aimed the gun. "I think we better get out of here. What do you think?"
"Take the car," he said, almost with exasperation; he was frightened to hear it in his voice.
"I can't drive, " she said simply. "Never learned."
"Fuck," he said. It went out of like a sigh.
"Lordy," she said, gesturing with the for him to move to the door, "it's hard to believe you were ever in jail."
And I do NOT mean it disrespectfully. I would love to hear the whys that you've left out of the story. Maybe give more specifics, too.
I don't know how old you are, or even if you're a man or woman, but if you saw some kid hitch hiking, would you be fantasizing about screwing them, or would you be wondering the fundamental who/what/when/where/whys? Who is she? What is she doing out here? How long as she been alone? Where did she come from? Why is she here? And, if you did start to think that she might have a sketchy past, would you really keep her in the car with you? If I thought she might be or bring trouble, I would have dropped her ass off just as soon as the thought hit me. And that would have been a great reveal for her true character.
James asks her to get out and she pulls the gun on him and tells him to keep driving. Brilliant!
The only way you'll get better is practice, so don't give up. Just don't be so close minded about critique, either. Smart comments aside, Milo gave you great advice. I wish I could get him/her to critique my stories.
"What were you in jail for, anyway?"
Her voice startled him, and for a moment he couldn't think of an answer.
"Come one," she said. "I'm getting bored with all this quiet. What were you in prison for?"
"I--beat up a guy"
"That's all?"
"Yes, that's all." He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.
"Tell me about it."
"It was just--I just beat up a guy. It wasn't anything."
"I didn't shoot that man for money, you know."
James said nothing.
"I shot him because he made a nasty remark to me about the hot dog."
"I didn't heary any nasty remark."
"If he hadn't said it, he'd still be alive."
James held tight to the whill.
Don't you wish this was it was the Gotham?" she said.
"Gotham," he said. "Yeah." He could barley speak for the dryness in his mouth and the deep ache of his own breathing.
"You know, she said, "I'm not really from Maine.
He nodded.
"I'm from Florida."
"Florida," he managed.
"Yes, only I don't have a southern accent, so people thing I'm not from there. Do you hear any trace of a souther accent at all when I talk?"
"No," he said.
"Now you--you've got an accent. A definite California accent."
He was silent.
"Talk to me," she said.
"What do you want me to say?" he said. "Fuck."
"You could ask me things."
"Ask you things--"
"Ask me what my name is."
Without hesitating, James said, "What's your name?'
"You know."
"No, really," he said, trying to play along.
"It's Harleen Quinzel."
"Harleen Quinzel," he said.
"Nobody but," she said.
"Good," he said.
"And I don't care about money, either," she said. "That's not what I'm after."
"No," James said.
"What I'm after is adventure."
"Right," James said.
"Fast living."
"Fast living, right."
"A good time."
"Good," he said.
"I'm going to live a ton before I die."
"A ton, yes."
"What about you?"
"Yes," he said. "Me too."
"Want to join up with me?"
"Join up," he said. "Right." He was watching the road.
"She leaned toward him a little. "Do you think I'm lying about my name?"
"No."
"Good," she said.
He had begun to feel s though he might start though up what he'd had of the hamburger. His stomach was cramping on him, and he was dizzy. He might even be having a heart attack.
"Your eyes are big as saucers," she said.
He tried to narrowm them a little. His whole body was shaking now.
"You know how old I am, James? I'm nineteen."
He nodded, glanced at her and then at the road again.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"Do you believe people go to heaven when they die?"
So, the unconstructive part is that your writing is truely bad, I am really sorry, but it's no better than a 8th grade trying to go 'author".
I DO love your story though, it takes enough of your time as not to troll the forums anymore... so, good on ya mate! Don't stop!
lmao
She robs and kills a broke old man. She a regular criminal mastermind.
Because I can't very well post them there, now could I?
You deleted a post where you insulted just about everyone trying to participare until then to make me look stupid? HAHA! I don't believe it...
Sorry to say, but what a donkey.
lmfao pure comedy. Let me take your suggestions and try again:
On an abandoned road a young girl walks in a westerly direction, carrying a purse. James stops to pick up the hitchhiker.
"Thank you," she said. "I thought I was going to be walking in a westerly direction forever!"
"You mean walking westerly forever? Isn't it a bit redundant to say westerly direction?" James asked.
"No."
Bemused, he decided to change the subject. "Why were you hitchhiking on an abandoned road?"
"That's a stupid question! To get a ride. Duh!"
"But the road is abandoned. No one comes here. Why not a highway or something more practical?" he said, wondering if she had mental defects.
"This is boring. Let's do something fun. Try to guess what material my purse is!"
"Um, it's leather."
"How did you guess?!"
"What dumbass wouldn't know what it is? It's fucking leather. It's a popular material. Everyone know what leather looks like. Are you high?"
"No... What a silly thing to ask!" she said, letting out a giggle.
He stops the car. "That's it. Get out!"
Do you want me to insult everyone trying to "participare until then" so you don't look stupid? I don't want you to think I'm trying to make you look stupid.
In my eyes you made your childish choice, dude.
P.S.: Trying to be smart on a typo is a really cool thing as well. You are aware that "r" is next to "t" on a standard keyboard - I'm sure of that.
But I do agree that it's nice to have you distracted. I don't post often, but I do read the forums a lot. Seems like you're always in the center of some drama.
The only honest post.
Is is common to personally insult the author in literary critiques? I don't know, you all are the experts.
But to think the "I love Red Panda" members don't like my writing. I'm surprised.
I know I may seem a bit unappreciative of distinguished authors and literary critics such as yourselves feedback, but I want to clarify that I'm most grateful for your repetitive expression of hate for me and my work. I always say why say something once when you can say it twice, and with hate. Thank you again.
I didn't know you could navigate a webpage with blinders on. Both Milo and myself gave you genuine critique.
As for hate? Please. If a bit of banter online is what you consider hate, I would love to see you face any situation in real life.
For the longest, I did think that you were just a troll, because you turn harmless situations into a whirling shit storm. I see now that the real issue is that you're a tantrum-prone cry baby.
If you refuse to take critique on your writing, maybe you will at least take some advice for your personal life:
Don't dish what you can't take, and quit posting up your "work" if you don't want to hear people's honest opinions on it.
I have to admit I was starting to suspect you had something personal against me. Perhaps maybe you even dislike me. Now I see it was completely my imagination.
I was rolling on the floor laughing with all the banter in this post. You're a funny one
"Look, I'm not going to shoot you while you're driving the car. We'd crash if I did that."
"Oh," he sad. "Oh, Jesus, please--look, I never saw anybody shot before--"
"Will you stop it?"
He put one hand to his mouth. He was soaked: he felt the sweat on his upper lip, and then he felt the dampness all through his clothes.
She said, "I don't kill everybody I meet, you know."
"No," he said. "Of course not." The absurdity of this exchange almost brought a laugh out of him. How astonishing, that a laugh could be anywhere in him at such a time, but here it was, rising up in his throat like some loosened part of his anatomy. He held on with his whole mind, and a moment passed before he realized that she was laughing.
"Actually," she said, "I haven't killed all that many people.."
"How--" he began. Then he had to stop to breath. "How many?"
"Take a guess."
"I don't have any idea," he said.
"Well, she said, "you'll just have to guess. And you'll notice I haven't spent any time in prison."
He was quiet.
"Guess," she said.
James said, "Ten?"
"No."
He waited.
"More than ten?"
"Maybe."
"More than ten," he said.
"Well, all right. Less than ten."
"Less than ten," he said.
"Guess," she said.
"No."
"Eight."
"No, not eight."
"Six?"
"Not six."
"Five?"
"Five and a half people," she said. "You almost hit it right on the button."
"Five and a half people," James said.
"Right. A kid who was hitchhiking, like me; a guy at a gas station; a dog that must've got lost--I count him as the half; another guy at a gas station; a guy that took me to a motel and made an obscene gesture to me; and the guy at the diner. That makes five and a half."
"Five and a half," James said.
"You keep repeating everything I say. I wish you'd quit that."
He wiped his hand across his mouth and then feigned a cough to keep from having to speak.
"Five and a half people," she said, turning a little in the seat, putter her knees up on the dash. "Have you ever met anybody like me? Tell the truth."
"No," James said, "nobody."
"Just think about it, James. You can say you rode with Harleen Quinzel. You can tell your grandchildren."
He was afraid to say anything to this, for fear of changing the delicate balance of the thought. Yet he knew the worst mistake would be to say nothing at all. He was beginning to sense something of the cunning that he would need to survive, even as he knew that the slightest miscalculation might mean the end of him. He said, with fake wonder, "I knew Harleen Quinzel."
She said, "Think of it."
"Something," he said.
And she sat farther down in the seat. "Amazing."
Look, I can't sit here and explain a story that people don't read fully and that isn't even finished.
Like, there is not an abandoned road in my story. That shows me you're not paying attention.
I get people want a reliable narrator, a really likable protagonist, and just familiarity in general.
To personally attack me and call me a pedophile I actually find offensive. That's a very serious charge.
First, I write. I'm not the narrator. That's freshman level English.
Second, there he was thinking about having sex with her, but it never got explicit and was never brought up again. Not even hints of it. And it serves as tension: here is this guy with a dirty mind with a girl who kills men she thinks has dirty minds.
Third, this isn't even a love story. There's no romance. There's not even touching.
Fourth, I honestly think this story is above some people's head. They can't understand it. They don't read a lot, especially serious fiction, and it catches them off guard.
Name a book for adults and I'll point out some screwed up shit that happens. In the "Kite Runner" there is a scene when a boy rapes another. That book was a best seller. In "50 Shades of Grey" the rich guy is a stalker-ish person. That book is wildly popular. In "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" the main character gets raped. Another best seller. What I'm presenting is very mild.
I can't please everyone. You don't like it then don't read it. That simple. Just coming here, talking shit, ranting, with vague "this sucks" isn't useful. You're just being a jerk, like other people. It's not helpful, it's just trolling.
i guess the mods areletting this continue cos as other have said your putting your energy in to your own public rant thread which is mildy connected to the walking dead..
but i wonder with some of your posts are actually typed up by someone older than you, cos the grammar your use varies it's more accurate in your normal troll posts or rebuttals than in your story..
and incase you didn't know the book world is probably the pickiest most analy retentive profession when it comes to perfection of spelling/grammar and flow.
as you say these 'mature books' may of been about dark stuff or taboo subjects but they are well written unlike your work.
being vague in a book is a big no no, since there are only words to go on you have to describe everything but with out droning on about it what your doing to akin to quick fire sentences that do not blend together it's almost like you took a shot gun to a couple of books and picked up the biggest pieces of what remains and posted them..
check out my save carley page and see my fan fics
James had just crossed into Texas from Oklahoma and was heading west when he noticed a female figure in the distance. At least he thought it was a female figure – there weren’t many curves to the body, but the walk was definitely feminine. He wondered if offering her a ride would be any kinder than letting her walk. After all, he was driving a beat up Toyota Camry with a slew of internal problems, including a broken AC and no radio. Plus the crack in the windshield didn’t help much with the view.
But as soon as the kid turned around he couldn’t say no. She couldn’t be older than 14, if that. What in the hell was a kid doing walking down this little-traveled road? Something in the back of his mind nettled him. If she’s out here, miles from any town, she’s nothing but trouble. Again he almost passed her up, but the big smile she gave him as she stuck out the thumb on one hand and began to wave with the other halted him.
He pulled over and rolled down the passenger window, but he didn’t unlock the door. “Where you headed?” He asked, as he observed her attire. She was wearing jeans and a shawl-styled shirt. Seemed practical enough. Dumb kid was probably running away because she had a fight with her parents and thought that she’d just pull the sleeves up when she got too hot. James didn’t miss being a teenager at all.
“Wherever you’re headed.” She said. Something in her voice put the hair on the back of his neck up. There was something jaded about her, something too-adult. He didn’t like it. She’s just a kid. He told himself. Could you live with yourself if you left her here to die of exposure?
“Well, I’m thinking about heading to L.A.” James said. “I don’t have any place to be, so I’m still not sure. Where are you from?”
“Why do you care? L.A. sounds great.” She tugged at the door handle and frowned when it didn’t open. “Aren’t you going to give me a ride?” She pouted, trying to look sexy. James shook his head. This kid was going to get herself killed if he let her stay out here.
“Sure, kid. Hop in.” He unlocked the door. She was in, seat belt on, purse beside her, lunch bag in lap in a flash.
For a while, they were silent. James though back to when he was 14, about a million years ago, it seemed. He had been a wild kid, too. He’d done his fair share of ditching school and running away. That was before college, before jail. His face darkened at the thought. Maybe he still was a dumb kid. Getting into a bar fight and spending a couple of months in the county jail wasn’t exactly the adult thing to do. Now, with his “college career” on hold and his father recently deceased, he had no ties to any place. His family was gone, he wasn’t in school, and his father had left him a little money. It wasn’t a lot, only one-hundred-thousand dollars, but it was enough to start a new life.
His stomach rumbled, interrupting the silence. He glanced at the crumbled paper bag in the girl’s lap. “What you got in there?” He hoped it was two double hamburgers. Maybe some fries, too.
“Nothing!” The girl nearly shouted. She griped the bag tighter, making it smaller, trying to hide it in her hands. “Nothing,” she said again, more calmly. “Just another shirt.”
“Uh-huh.” James eyed her more carefully. Her clothes were old, cheap, but the handbag was real leather, expensive. “So you ran away with nothing but your designer handbag and an extra shirt? Was it spur of the moment?”
“How do you know it’s designer?” She asked, a cruel smirk touching her lips. “You gay? I thought real men didn’t care about that sort of thing?”
James hit the brakes. What he wanted to say was, ‘You ungrateful little shit, you have some nerve to talk shit to someone doing you a favor!’ What he did say was, “Excuse me?” His voice was pure venom.
The smirk had become an uncertain grimace. “What?” She barked, trying her best to sound tough. “It’s just an observation, is all.”
“Well, keep observations like that to yourself. If you don’t want to talk that’s fine. But keep in mind that the only reason I’m taking you anywhere is because I know your dumb ass would die out here alone.”
The girl didn’t look at him, instead she stared down at her hands as she said, “I’m sorry…What was your name?”
“James.” He said tersely.
“I’m sorry, James. I won’t be any trouble to you, I promise. I just want a ride.”
“Fine.” He said, but he was worried. There was no way this kid wouldn’t be trouble.
To be continued…
Also, I'd like to point out that I make my living ghost writing. If you ever want to hire me, I'd be willing to give you a frinemy discount.
There was one. The guy she killed. James sees him but dismisses it. The radio is broken, and they're kind of secluded, so the news isn't hitting. But it's there. Shit will hit the fan.
Thanks for pointing out this typo. It was supposed to be throat, not through.
It's in the walking dead universe, but I'm tired of Georgia. And I don't really want to screw around with other people's characters and stories.
Sorry for making you read this?
oh dear red panda 4 consecutive posts
holy shit bro there is no excuse for that besides pure laziness
edit them together we know you like to boost your post counts to seem like a 'real boy' but common dude get with the programme... if you look at the bottom of your posts next to the quote tab on the left what do you see ?
E D I T......
really you have no excuse..
Hehe, thanks.
Well thank you very much.
But to be honest, I was kind of hoping to hear back from Red about it...