Where am I going...?

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Jeanvieve, Feb 27, 2015.

  1. Name: Jade
    Age: 17
    Physical: Slender and pale, short curly red hair, green eyes.
    Personality: She is very smart, and witty. She is very patient, and keeps to herself unless forced to interact.
    Short Bio: She is in the process of leaving home. Her mother has recently remarried. Jade's father died when she was eleven. Her new stepfather is controlling and is making her mother move to Texas. Jade refuses to leave her home and is going to a young women's shelter she found online...







    As I walked to the curb the wind picked up and I was glad for the sweater I was wearing. It was brisk for late September, in Utah. I adjusted the duffel on my shoulder. It only took two minutes to get to the entrance of our sub-division. I sat on the curb, the duffel beside me. It was very quiet; there were only a few crickets when usually there was an orchestra outside my window.

    The moon was pale and gave off little light making the street look gloomy and desolate. No cars drove by. The next bus came in seven minutes. I began to go over my plan. I wasn’t going to Emily’s. I was supposed to go to some young women’s shelter. They said in their ad they don’t ask questions as long as you have a job. I’d written down the address on a piece of paper in my pocket.

    I was staring into the sky thinking of dad, when I heard the nearing loud rumble of a vehicle. I looked in the direction of the sound and spotted two headlights. They were too close together to be a car, had to be a motorcycle. It became louder and more visible by the second. It flashed past me and I glimpsed the hunched figure and guessed it was a guy. He zoomed away into the darkness leaving a haze of whirling leaves and cold wind behind.

    Suddenly the loud roar of the engine stopped. It didn’t fade off, it cut off. Then it revved back up again and soon I saw the headlights heading back towards me. My stomach fluttered nervously. Maybe he made a wrong turn, I thought. But then the motorcycle stopped . . . . . . . right in front of me.