ffgtfgtr: This isn't my best, but I liked the analogy. Wow, short comments this time.
Korona Karyuudo: OHH the biker person this time. Not one of my faves, but still pretty good. =) By the way, the first prompt response is mine, the second belongs to the guy above me. =P
Prompt: Cyclist + Factory Elements
Info: Easy enough of a prompt, but also fun to write. Enjoy! =)
Disclaimer: If we owned Pokemon do you honestly think we'd be writing fanfiction?
Riding, riding down the lanes; faster, faster, like flying.
It wasn't like this when he first started.
No, in fact he was horrible at riding a bike, always falling, tripping over, hitting the wrong brake, FORGETTING to hit the brake. All scratched up, all bruised up. And he got yelled at by his boss for making so many mistakes. He kept on screwing up orders to customers, kept on putting the wrong pieces into the wrong slots, backing up orders all while losing his hearing from lack of earplugs.
He didn't know any better in a factory, but, harder he worked, fueled by motivation to keep doing his job, keep doing better.
And, his biking improved immensely.
No more falling, no more hurting, sometimes even riding with no hands on the bars. The training wheels were off, and he moved up the chain, getting better jobs, higher pay, promotions, and finally learning to use those ear plugs.
Now, pedaling faster, he propelled himself up and over the last hill and to the finish line.
He's won the race; he's earned the position as the factory's boss, and nothing could bring him down.
Click.
The trigger on the handgun pulled like a man punching his card in at work, and suddenly, everything starts up.
The heavy machinery coils up and loosens, almost like a yoga instructor, calibrating itself for the busy work day ahead.
And the race is on.
The pedals are hammered like nails, except they keep popping back up; just to be put down again, almost like an OCD kid playing with a jack-in-the-box. Everyone remains in their lines, for a single inch is the difference between keeping a hold on your place or a spectacular failure, like welding a sheet of metal wrongly, or pressing the incorrect key on a piano, missing the note completely.
One inch is all it takes.
Like the proverbial well-oiled machine, they continue on, chugging along as they down their water, tossing the water bottles aside carelessly when they finish, like an extra screw.
They have no need for thinking hard, because everything is already regulated.
Left turn, 40 degrees.
Right turn, 125 degrees, slight climb.
Long straightaway, downhill.
Muscle memory has gotten them this far, no matter what lactic acid has to say. They're going all the way, whether they finish first or last. Sure, they'll be exhausted once the race is over, but that's because they have time to think about the pain, think about the race.
For now, they go on, strategy etched in their minds like the path ahead, the constant blur of the pack, the slight vision impairments they may have from being on the bike too long.
But it's all worth it at the end of the day. Especially if you win.
They get nearer and nearer to town, the fans growing louder with each one passed, and soon the final straight lies ahead of them like the path to home plate.
The banner is cut; we have a winner.
And finally, everything shuts down.
Korona Karyuudo: And there you go. Hope you liked it.. I guess. Till Next Time readers and reviewers! - Torrie =)
ffgtfgtr: *wonders why Till Next Time was capitalized...* Anyways... yeah. What she said. *peace sign*
::KK: Because it's MY goodbye phrase. Oh, that's right, forgot you didn't have one =P::
