Author's note : Wah, I'm tired of all these depressing OC characters with drug issues and dark backgrounds. Let's put on a broadway tune and see what happens.

"SCOUT!" my boss roared through the warehouse. I quickly ran up to him, giving him a quick military salute.

"Yes sir?" I asked, eagerly awaiting his instructions.

"I have a huge and very urgent delivery for apple that needs to be done before lunch, and none of these other shit-for-brains can reach midtown in the 10 minute time it SHOULD take to get there." he said, while glowering at my co-workers, who were all pretty much wiped out from the heatwave that was currently upon us.

I smiled cockily, even though I was sweating buckets.

"10 minutes? I'll get it there in 5." I say, rubbing my hands together with delight. My boss smiles at me fondly, and dare I say a bit proud.

"That's why you're my favorite, small fry."

I quickly loaded the heavy delivery box onto the back of my bicycle and headed off like a bolt of lightening down the road from the warehouse in the east village.

Hello, my name is Sarah King and I live in new york city. People at work call me Scout and I am the greatest delivery girl on wheels since, well, ever really. Speaking of which, why aren't there any female version of the flash? Or are there? Have I missed something in the 45 minute window I last checked ?

Am I going to hit that truck up ahead because I've been too busy thinking about this? Well, not today!

I quickly swerve out of the way, neatly avoiding a spectacular collision. Despite the heavy traffic, I've never experienced a problem getting anywhere on my bike. I've been biking around this town since I could crawl, and I am very familiar with the shortcuts and whatnot. I am a speedster of renowned reputation!

Some people think I'm too positive though. And some people think I'm on powerful drugs to always be so happy, but I'm really not- I swear! The only drugs I permit myself are coffee with triple shots of espresso and the occational ibuprofen when I have a headache. My mom works with homeopathic "medicine" and so I was always told to be careful of what I put in my body. I can see her now, berating me for using deodorant when I should just go outside and rub some basil leaves and olive oil in my armpits.

Yeah, sometimes her advice aren't that advisable.

A pedestrian stops to pick up something he dropped on the road and I cannot stop the bike – so I do the only thing I know how to do in this situation. I make a leap right over him, landing with a huge thud back on the road. Still paddling people, still going. I look back quickly and see an old man shaking his fist at me, a can of peas in his hand.

"Watch where you're going psycho!" he yells.

"Sorry Mr. Peas! " I yell back, hoping he can hear my heartfelt apology.

Perhaps you've noticed, but I tend to not watch where I'm going at all times. But 99.9% of the time, nothing bad happens. Well, today will make an exception to that rule.

I make my delivery on time, and my boss doesn't have to have another fit and his company doesn't have to pay extra for a late delivery. And now its time for lunch!

I make it quick and grab a slice of pizza at a nearby bistro, munching on it as I sit on a bench in Bryant park – my bike chained right next to the bench. That's another thing about bikes – they can easily be stolen. That's why I always guard my Josie like a mother with her newborn infant. Except my infant has wheels instead of legs. My short blonde hair is sticking up in all directions due to always wearing a helmet, and I'm quite happy that its not as long as it used to be. It kept whipping me in the face, hitting my eyes – bit of a bother really.

An eldery couple is sitting on the bench next to mine, also eating pizza.

"Harold, did you forget to get me a drink?" the elderly woman suddenly asks what Im assuming is her husband. He looks bewildered.

"Oh, I guess I must have." he says, staring down into the white plastic bag that bears the name of the bistro. The old woman sighs and starts getting up, her old bones making crack-crack noises, arms slightly shaking.

"Oh, I suppose I'll go up and get a glass of water from inside..."

I stop her from doing so by handing her my unopened soda, smiling politely.

"Here, you can have mine, I won't need it." I say, even though its somewhat of a lie. But elderly people and heatwaves don't generally mix without large quantities of beverages. The lady smiles, and takes the soda can from me.

¨Why thank you."

After lunch, I feel slightly dizzy. This might be because I have not had enough water or soda to drink, but I decide to ignore this for now as I head back to the warehouse. I can drink gallons of water when I get there anyway. Whoa, is that my vision going double or is the whole of new york one giant copy of itself?

Doesnt help matters that I'm heading at my usual ultra-speed down the road, flying past cars and buses and motorcycles at 90 miles per hour.

But hey, look on the bright side – its kinda cool to see the city in double – sort of like old school 3D without the glasses. This is the last thing I have time to think before my bike and me collide with something (Someone?) dressed all in black.

Everything goes black for a little while – probably not more than a couple of seconds. Its so weird, at times like these, you don't feel any pain at all at first. It's only when you say out loud "I'm fine" that you start to suspect that your brain flew out of the top of your head. Luckily, that has not happened.

When I come to, I have been propped up against the sidewalk leaning against something warm. I look down and see that my knees are kinda scraped up. It's just as hot and bustling as before though, and nothing around us has changed at all. It is then that a low, raspy voice speaks up next to me, and I almost jump at the sound of it.

"Hey, are you okay?" it asks. I turn towards the voice, and come face to face with the warm thing I'm leaning against. It's a guy, and he looks very anxious and kinda shell-shocked. He is also dressed all in black, and there is a fresh gash on his cheek, as well as some dirt from the road. I put two and two together and get 45.

"Man, your eyes are weird." Is all I can manage at this point, and the guy in question with the weird (okay beautiful) eyes blink at me, as if what i said was not expected. Then I realize what I said and frown, my head hurts.

"Ugh, sorry – I'm sorry for hitting you, and I'm sorry about what I just said. You are very aesthetically pleasing. Wearing black in the middle of june, during a heatwave. Don't worry about me, are you okay? " I ask, looking him over. He keeps staring at me with this indechiperable look on his face. Finally, he answers with a half-shrug.

"Just a few scrapes. Stay right here ok? I'm gonna get you some water – you look a little out of it."

No shit, I probably look like a dried up turnip. As he leaves I immidielty look around for my bike with the desperation of a mother-hen looking for her chicks. I find that it is right behind me, all intact, thank goodness. I reach out a scratched and raw hand, caressing its steel limbs as tears leak out of my eyes.

"My poor baby, I'm sorry for putting you through this mess. Mommy scared you good didn't she? I promise she won't let it happen again…."

"Do you normally do that?"

My hand freezes for a moment, before I give Josie a final pat and turn to face the guy. I don't know his name, I realize. He's looking down at me and the bike, and now he no longer looks as anxious and shocked. His expression has melted into something resembling apathy, and my suspictions are confirmed. All black clothes, weird modern mohawk hairstyle, dry and sarcastic voice – he must be one of those emo kids I keep hearing so much about.

"Yes, Josie needs to know that mommy screwed up and that she is sorry."

"Okay." he says in reply,sitting down next to me on the curb, handing me a full bottle of water. He might as well have handed me the holy grail.

"Oh sweet, merciful buddah!" I exclaim, before chugging almost the entire bottle. Meanwhile, the guy has barely moved, staring at my vivious chugging like he's watching a fascinating animal at a zoo. It makes me want to spit the water at him, but that would be rude so I don't.

"Thanks for that, was very much needed. Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again.

"Don't worry about it. Can you walk?"

I put this to the test, standing up on the sidewalk. My legs wobble a little at first, more out of the adrenalin rush than pain. Then I can walk fine, andI find that while my head hurts a little, I no longer see double. I smile, go over and grab the handlebars of Josie -ready to head off again.

I turn around and exclaim "TA-DAHHH!" to the emo kid with a dramatic flair to show that I am once again fine. But emo kid is gone.

Its just me, a crazy lady shouting at a pigeon who has taken his place. It looks at me, blinking, before flying off to a better destination.