Wooooh! He screamed, the fog of his breathe poured out of his mouth, popping the convertible top, pressing the peddle down; he could almost smell the rubber burning under the frame of the cherry red Impala. The leather top hit the ground and was left with the smoke of burning tires only, he looked back and smiled. He pressed the peddle down hard, turning his attention from the open desert highway to his speedometer; watching the hand climb from sixty-five, to seventy, his blonde hair began to writhe in the Arizona wind. The speedometer finally hit ninety three; he went to flip cruise control on, but remembered it was an older car. He could see the sun rising, he needed a visor; he looked foolishly towards the top of the windshield. Ha, should he have expected one on a show car? He looked aimlessly around. He slammed his palm at the glove box. When the door fell open, he reached his hand down, keeping his eyes on the road, his hand flipped through the manuals and certificates, the second he was sure his hand was on the leg of sunglasses he pulled his hand out. He smiled to himself, flipping open the other leg with his free hand and placing them on his face. He smiled a white, large cheesy grin, as he checked himself out in the rear-view mirror. He took one big breathe of the cold morning air, savoring it; it would probably be one of his last.
"Well at least the guy who owns this drives it, unlike the rest of those half dead zombies, not even willing to drive any of those nice cars, humph". He raised his hips, high enough off of the seat to dig his hand into his jean pocket. He pulled out a map, setting it on the passenger seat, trying to sprawl it out with just his right hand, while keeping his eyes on the road. He put his pointer to the paper, there it was, the nearest town, a place where he could get new clothes, and it wasn't too far. He noticed his watch, his black jacket sleeve stuck under it. He grunted, pulling his sleeve from under it and dragging it over the red chrome watch. He sped up a bit, he needed to get somewhere.
He slowed down as cars in the opposite lane became more frequent; a family in a mini-van, a mom and her son, he didn't know why he noticed small things like this, but he did. He saw a town sign, behind it, a plaza with a motel on the opposite side of the street, and maybe a small housing community behind it. He stopped at the red, and sat there. He watched as NO cars passed, he started getting anxious."There aren't even any cars! Whatever" he told himself, accelerating past the red light. He took the right into the plaza, a subway a laundry mat and a men's warehouse? He pulled into an open spot, which were rather abundant, being there was only one other car. It was only after he saw the subway that he realized how hungry he was. He stepped out of his car and looked at men's warehouse, he sighed, pulling out his wallet, cycling his fingers through a layer of hundreds, he really didn't wanna spend that much, but he couldn't stay in the same clothes. He stepped onto the curb, and looked back and forth between the two shops. It's probably more important I get new clothes first. He walked up to the door "OPEN 11-7" he reluctantly looked at his watch, six minutes."Guess I'll eat first. He stepped into the subway. There was no one at the front so he took a seat at the chair against the wall at a round table. After a few seconds a red head came around from behind a storage rack, a sandwich In hand. He got up and walked towards the counter, resting his elbows on the counter. She set the sub on the counter and held out her left hand. He looked at her suspiciously."What, you're a meatball guy aren't you?" He nodded; he stared at his wallet, trying to remember how much it costs. He raised his eyes, he noticed her staring at something behind him, he looked at the chrome blade on the deli cutter, and the only thing in the reflection was the TV with the time "WEDNESDAY 11:03" six fifty he remembered. He pulled a few bills out, before she cut him off "half price on Tuesdays." He watched her hand slide to the remote inconspicuously tapping what he could only assume was the power button. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"That's the rule" she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Okay" he said, putting three bills and a quarter back in his wallet, placing what was left on the counter and taking his sandwich. He turned and went to walk away. When he stopped and walked backwards. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. He grinned at her and walked forward, not before winking. She blushed and tried to act busy as he left. He stepped out of the sub shop and into the men's clothing store. A tall, lanky up-dressed man stopped him "No outside food or drink" he told him. Naruto sighed and turned around.
He found himself sitting on a curb, biting away at his sandwich. With the last bite gone he leant up, pivoted and tossed the wrapper in the trash can; stepping into the clothing store. The man, "Jerry" the tag read, seemed to give him a gesture towards a specific section of the relatively small store. An expert at guessing sizes, he assumed "well if there was one recommendation for working at a clothing store". He weaved through racks with business suits and trousers, finally arriving at the back. Jerry seemed to follow him. Got anything else, a little less official, he asked, eyeing the lower section of high fabric count clothes.
"Over here sir" Jerry called. He turned around to see the man with his hand gestured towards two low shelves, each cloth wrapped in thick plastic, lined with velvet thread."Perhaps you'd like to take a look at our "standard whites" section, but I am afraid that a vest is packaged with it, and with this outfit, you'll probably want to purchase the trousers; and then there are the shoes." He leant down, brushing his hand along the package he looked at. He grabbed a package and turned around. He started rotating a rack of pants. Dark grey, good enough, he thought; pulling the pants off of the rack. He walked with jerry over towards the register. He placed the clothes he picked on the counter. The man ran the barcode of the two clothing pieces "four hundred and thirty six dollars" the man said. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He pulled out his wallet and took five bills out, setting them on the counter "keep the change, I guess" he told Jerry, jerry leaned down behind the counter, pulling out a pair of shoes "these are complimentary sir". He turned to walk into the changing room, hoping Jerry was a good guess.
He threw his old clothes into a pile on the stool behind him. He dusted at his grey matt vest "all I need now is a trench coat and I'll be a mobster" he laughed at himself, tugging on the white sleeve. He stepped out thanking Jerry, his old outfit piled under his arm. He tossed his clothes in the same trash can as he did with his subway. He jumped into his impala taking the keys out of his pocket. Before he knew it, he was back on the road again, only doing the speed limit this time, kind of. He cruised for a few hours. He came to a truck stop on a ridge, overlooking Lake Pleasant. He stopped and slept in his car, under the shade of a large granite slab, for which the truck stop seemed to be named after.
He awoke just before the sun set. He leant up, raising his seat. He stepped out of his car, walking around his door, he sat on the hood and watched for the last five minutes it was above the horizon, three, two, one, he counted to himself, and then the sun was set completely. He sighed, running his hand through his hair and leaning up off of his hood. He got into his car, shutting the door and putting the keys into ignition.
He found himself on the highway again, baron except for the occasional road sign, just a few more miles to Yuma, he said, his finger on the map again. He looked up, peering off into the distance; he could see a speed limit sign, where someone spray-painted a 1 in front of 65MPH. He couldn't resist and sped up, trying to match the implied sarcasm of the sign. At ninety eight the car started to shake, but he pushed it up to one O four. Then, after it was too late, he could see the front bumper of a crown Victorian behind a rock formation. Before he knew it, he heard the faint police siren "wheering" in the background, he looked to the rearview mirror, the officer must have been almost a mile away, but would catch up soon.
He watched as the cop gradually came closer, he was beginning to panic, he didn't think he could go much faster in his car, so he slowed down to ninety six. He reluctantly looked back into the mirror again, the siren was right there in his ear, and the lights, flashing right behind his car. The cop shifted to the right of his car, his front bumper parallel to his rear bumper. The cop turned slightly into the rear of his impala. He felt as the road ran to the left of him. The impala couldn't save its self as it left the ground. It barrel rolled once, then a second time, the rear bumper crashed into the darkness. The third rotation and the hood left, another flip and the car landed on the corner of the front bumper, the glass of the windshield left to the ground, his car dragon flipped as he watched his hazy world flip to a spinning whirl of asphalt. Then it slowed and fell to its right side and flipped again. He felt his seatbelt give away, and his head hit the steering wheel, one more flip as the right of the frame rippled so badly the door was wedged into itself, one of the hinges broken, the door was about to fall of, one last slow roll and he rested upside down, the windshield acting like a failing pillar to the rest of the car. He slid out of his seat, slowly, he couldn't feel his face, which was good because that was first to hit the ground, but instead of the warmth of the Arizona streets he assumed he was gonna feel all he felt was cold. Elbow by elbow he pulled himself from under the car. His face bloody and a piece of glass sticking out of his right shoulder he struggled to get to his feet, but was just fumbling on his hands and knees, he put pressure on his arm, trying to push himself up. He screamed when he felt his disconnected arm fall back into the socket, sending him to the ground. The car was burning behind him, he reached out, at nothing, in agony, he rolled over when he felt the only heat since the cars first roll, looking down, his pant leg was on fire, he begrudgingly leant up, feeling the sharp pain of his broken rib pressing into one of his organs. He patted at his pant leg as fast as he could until the flame dimmed. He leant back down against the asphalt. Almost drowning in his own blood as he coughed, he was forced to once again lean up.
He rolled over onto his feet and tried to lean up, the second he did, make it into the half hunched stupor he might call standing, the nausea hit him hard again, his world a grayish water painting that just wouldn't stop shaking. He leaned over even more, resting his hand on his knee; he threw up, before collapsing back to the ground. He crawled, trying to make sure, if the car did blow up, he wouldn't be in range "why'd you call me here?". The cop came stepping around the pile of broken, vintage car. He got to him and pushed him over with his foot. He rolled onto his back, the idea of resisting the kick hurt too much "I need your help"."Where's the watch, kid" the cop's husky voice called out "with what". He kept quiet, not so much because he had nothing to say, he just couldn't find the energy, he just prayed he'd take the fake one out of his left pocket "I need your help getting a car, don't ask me why, you already know the answer, I'm leaving. The cop reached down and pulled a watch out of his pocket "thanks kid" he said, looking the red watch over, checking for the engravings kurama it said on the back. "Y-you're not a real cop" he dared say, through his blood filled lungs. "And you're not worth keeping alive" the man took his gun out of the holster and fired at the ground, hitting him just above the hip, not once looking away from the watch he was looking over "why not just buy one, I'd rather not help you abandon your friends"."You know why I'm leaving" he told her."And you know I need your help, now come on" he opened the back door to the city car show, she followed him in. Pointing to a cherry red, convertible impala on a podium "that one" he told her.
He struggled for breath as blood filled his lungs, or maybe he was just choked up at the thought he left his friends, yeah that's it, he told himself, or at least what he'd like to believe, not that he was just dying in the street.
To be continued- hope you like it, it's the beginning so please be lenient, don't be afraid to review or check out my other stories.