(Closed) Skeletons in Our Closet

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Uneasy Goat, Jan 12, 2016.

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  1. The streetlights were blinding as they passed by, rapid and constant as his heartbeat had become. He could almost feel the blood pumping through his body and rushing through to his feet with his pedal to the floor, his hands with a vice-like grip on the steering wheel. The corners of his mouth had begun to involuntarily crawl upward, giving him an awkward smile that would surely illicit strange looks from passers-by if they could see him. He glanced down at his speedometer and saw it approaching 83, too fast he thought, much too fast. Easing his foot from the gas pedal, he took a deep breath and seemed to inhale his surroundings with it. Every smell in the car rushed to his nostrils at once and gave him an uncomfortable peace. The smell of smoke was the most apparent, he was one of the few people these days who smoked in their vehicles anymore. The leather came next, the seats a clean black with white stitching along the edges. The perfume came last, stinging his nose and he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head as if to clear the smell from his senses.

    He took his exit towards Henderson and slowed to a stop at the red light behind a large black truck with the license plate number "FR34K5H0" and cocked his eyebrow disapprovingly. The rest of the truck was as unimpressive, NRA stickers and skulls outlined his rear window (which was taped on, of course) with a lovely confederate flag mounted on the rear passenger window. Pitiful, he thought as the light changed and the monstrosity began to roar forward and fill the air with black exhaust, what a pitiful excuse for a human being. He began to pull forward, checking his left and right before entering the intersection that led to his house. The next stretch of road was long, but one of the only reasons he enjoyed living in this city. For all the hustle and bustle of the town proper, once you left and heading the opposite direction there was nothing but endless fields of grass and farmland. Something about that peace was beautiful to him, but beyond his reach.

    A blaring sound accompanied by headlights informed him that he had drifted into the lane of oncoming traffic and he swerved hard back into his own, his knuckles white and his breathing suddenly rapid once more. No mistakes. No mistakes. No mistakes. Almost home. Just as he got his breathing under control, another light began to flash behind him. Red and blue. His heart was in his throat, he could feel it beat against his saliva as he swallowed hard. He took a quick glance right and pulled off, lingering in that direction for a moment before turning off his vehicle and rolling down the window.

    Time stood still. His right hand had slipped into the space between the seats and fumbled for the small metal object hidden there, not sure what he going to do. The seconds felt like hours as the officer approached his car with his notebook and Maglite, pointing it through the window and into the passenger seat. He asked for license and registration, and received them with hands that were shaking like leaves.

    "Are you two alright?"
    "Y-y-yes sir. I apologize, I must have just gotten distracted by something. I don't usually drive, you see."
    "She's had a bit much to drink then? What about yourself?"
    "N-n-no sir, I don't drink. It's been a long time since we've been out and I wanted her to be able to enjoy herself. I just thought that-"
    "It's fine, be more careful out here. Drive safe, I just wanted to stop you and make sure you were alright to keep driving."
    "T-thank you, officer. W-we w-will."

    His window rolled up with the flick of a switch, bringing his world back to silence. As the cop car drove off into the pitch of the evening, his lips curled once more. What erupted next was what could be considered laughter, a hard guttural sound that followed him until he entered his garage. His eyes were blurry and tears ran down his face, and he felt like he had just danced with the devil and lived to tell the tale. The garage door closed noisily and he walked around to the passenger's seat with an unrelenting smile. As he opened the door he had to rush to catch the woman leaning against it. Her neck made an awful sound, like sticks being snapped underfoot, as he lifted her from the seat. She was heavier than he expected for her size, but he managed to bring her inside and as he approached the door that led downstairs he chuckled again. Too much to drink.
  2. 1996 was a good year. Not only was it the last year Ford gave a damn about the trucks they made, it was also the last year Frank's dad had given a damn about living his sorry-ass life. In the spring of '97 that dumb sunvabitch had scooped his brains out onto the family recliner with a 12-gauge and called parenthood "doneskys!". Frank angrily pressed the brake pedal down at the stoplight, feeling the chassis tense and his heart try and steer him down a path of sorrow he WAS NOT going down tonight, no sir! Taking a healthy swig from the bottle of So-Co in the cup holder, the 30-something scratched an anxious stare into his side mirror, scanning for Johnny Law. Yet instead of a classic American Crown Victoria his eyes were met with the filthy beige hood of a Japanese Honda Accord.

    "What the fuck..." he stated aloud in manufactured shock. It was a rhetorical question see, because Frank "Freakshow" Garren knew what the fuck was up, yes sir! There was a dirty fucking Mexican behind him in that Accord, probably listening some mariachi band, smelling like onions and ass. Yeah, that was it, it had to be. He's probably judging me too, isn't he? he thought bitterly, Probably has some issue with my plates, or my guns, or my southern god-damned pride, doesn’t he? Fucking low-life, no name piece uh shit! What do you know about pride? What do you know about me? Not a fucking thing.... "NOT A FUCKING THING!" he roared as he slammed the gas pedal down, allowing the old diesel engine to shine, covering the asphalt with a thick black cloud of exhaust.
    #2 Saint Allison, Jan 12, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 19, 2016
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