A/N: Ownership: I don't own Glee copyrights. I have tonnes of dvd's, cd's, paraphernalia which includes my Intellectual Property of Imagination.
I'm Australian, we drive on the left side of the road and sit in the right side to drive. I write, what I know. I recently went to Eden, in New South Wales. So this has all great inspiration from that side of our lovely island.
I Wanted this to be an independent story, for the moment I'm going to publish here under our great love of Glee. However, as my baby, please substitute the following, and change to the cast mentioned.
Kurt - Scott, played by a very young Richard Gere.
Rachel - Charlotte, played by Makyla Smith.
Sebastian - Jaxon, played by Fabrizio Filippo.
Tina - Claire, played by Scarlett Johansen.
Blaine - Paul, played by Andy Garcia.
~ Travelling the White Line ~
Chapter One.
Exhilarating.
That is the best word to express what Kurt was feeling as his little car zipped around the tight country corners, zoomed down the short straights at breakneck speed, applied the brakes really hard before turning the steering wheel, foot back on the accelerator to go left, smooth angle and then right, straight and then right again….
Despite the recommended speed of 60 kilometres, the allowed speed being 80 kilometres, his little baby could manage 100 kilometres no problems. Up through the gears, his baby grabbed at the road with the fierce determination of holding his lover. Up one gear, pulled along, up and up some more.
Soon enough he'd have to go down the gears to fourth, the steep descent making his heart soar with excitement, then his breath hitches as he looks over the vast valley he would be travelling through. Down to three, applying his brakes a little more, softly again, and once more he holds his breath, fighting the cross winds, pushing his baby too close to the centre of the road.
Finally through to the other side of that piece of danger, which was a piece of time much smaller than it felt. The road becomes smooth and straight once more, snatching up the gears till he's at fifth, and out of here like a bat out of hell.
He holds the steering wheel as aggressively as he holds his lover's neck, his other hand moving the floor gear shift, with equal aggressiveness. Alternating accelerator and brake with his right foot, the left pushing the clutch in and out, in and out, at times lost contact not always possible.
As the travel peeters out more smoothly, he has time to admire the rolling fog over the bay of water on his right. There's a lone anchored yacht over yonder, lights on inside indicating a meal being prepared.
Eyes back on the road, just in time as a semi trailer comes around the distant bend toward him. His car is tiny in comparison to anything else on the road, the truck is big and currently two kilometres away.
He sighs and moves his eyes over the dashboard of information. Speed is 100 kilometres, fuel gauge is at three quarters, oil and water indicators are fine, as is the temperature reading correct.
flash!He's far from needing to dip his high beams downward, out from the edge of his sight he catches his cell phone flashing a blue light of alert. He picks it up and puts it in the glove box, being on silent it can flash in there. He looks up and the truck consists of orange tiny lights around it's edges, two bright driving lights, travelling toward him on it's own side of the road. The background hills have been absorbed by solid black, the moon is picked up by the black water on the right side of the bridge. The left of the bridge doesn't exist.
Nothingness, that is the left of his world, there is a wall of bridge railing, his side to travel on, broken white lines, the trucks side, …. The truck flashes it's lights, telling him to turn his down. He follows as instructed, the truck moves toward the centre and flashes again.
Kurt checks his dash, yes his lights are on low beam, he looks up and his lights are definitely on low beam. He shrugs, and moves a little to the left. The truck flashes high beam longer, flashes, flashes again. Kurt slows a little and flashes his, to show they're already on low beam. His tyres pull in-between the beams of the old rickety wooden bridge.
The truck moves toward his side, too much for comfort. Try as he might, Kurt can't move the wheels out of the ridge.
He fights frantically with it, trying to move to the left more, not that there is much room there before the white bridge railing. The truck increases in size as it gets closer, it sounds its horn loudly. The horn vibrates through the air and bridge, up his wheels and the steering column.
His black gloves slip on the steering wheel. His heart races and his feet apply pressure to the brakes and clutch. The distance between the vehicles is closing very quickly. He looks over to the right, where the yacht used to be in the distance, with its occupants cooking and enjoying a family moment. It doesn't exist, there's nothing but black water to the horizon and the moon bounces in-between the waves, that splash up and curtail his hope of any tomorrows.
The white bridge railings blurr as his sight fills with tears. Wiping them away angrily, he looks back at the truck and determines to not be beaten.
Trying once more for the escape and ownership control of his baby, his heart sinks as reality is obviously a resounding No!
Putting the car in to the next higher gear, he accelerates and aims for his side of the bridge to drive on. The trucks lights are as big as tomorrow's circle clocks, bright and burning in to his face.
Definitely his car would be swallowed in the lighting, his determination evident to the truck driver. He lifts his chin of obstinateness.
Jealousy consumes his heart, his fibres and essence of survival, overtaking any anger that existed toward the driver…..
Waking in a sweat, Kurt wished he could sleep well, when the occasional bug would move over his ear. Each time he awoke his eyes would pop to the two green lights of the room's smoke alarm.
Hoping to one day be a super hero, each time he awoke he would project his sensors to pick up any anomalies in the room. The room's solitary door was still shut, despite the amount of light that came around the edges and through the hundred year old keyhole. His immediate side dresser was secured to the floor, the contents on top unmoved.
The bed he was lying on, the head three inches from the wall, nothing out of the ordinary. The next side dresser, intact. The window, still shut with the occasional truck light moving by as they thundered passed the motel. The wall heater under the window? The room was cold, but not as icy as when he'd first arrived, so hopefully it wouldn't die, along with him, before he had the chance to leave.
Next was a huge wall of soft yellow painted nothing. A wardrobe or something for his clothes to hang on, would have been truly welcomed. But this wall of nothingness, scared the hell out of him. Then in the corner of that was a chair, positioned to invite to sit, one of its legs looked to say Don't you f…ng dare!
Kurt took in a breath, as quietly as he could. Surveying the room once more, everything seemed fine. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep.
Pulling his dressing gown tighter around his shoulders, pulling his night hat tighter and over his eyes, rubbing aggressively where the bug had scuttled, and forcing his mind to think of how he'd be greeted the next day.
Eventually, as certain as knowing of where he was, he drifted deeper and deeper into unconsciousness …
~ Zzzz ~