2nd Generation
A/N: Okies, i know i already wrote a second chapter, but it really sucked...so I did it again. I lik this one betta! well have fun reading my pathetic excuse of writing. ::dodges a book thrown by Monkeystarz:: FINE! ::mumbles:: Have fun reading my fantastic writing.....
He took his place at the starting line, breathing in deeply, closing his eyes as he waited for the gunshot. His brown hair just barlly peeked out of the helmet, giving the impression of grass hanging from a cliff. His body was relaxed, his hands holding loosely to the handle bars, his legs stretched out on either side of him. He knew what the other racers were thinking. Something along the lines of, "Stupid teenager doesnt know what he's getting into, just wants to look cool, acting all calm." He smirked as the man lifted his hand into the air, easing languidly into position as his mind was running the track on its own its own.
"Lets see who doesn't know what he's getting into now." He mumbled to himself as the lead was shot into the air.
He had only seen the track once, he hadn't been able to run it, since he was an "outsider" who came from New York to challange all these men that claimed themselves the best. Even so, he had every turn memorized, every angle and crack in the road commited to memory. He zoomed ahead, going extremely fast, another thing that would consider him sutpid, since there was a hairpin turn not even 100 ft. away. But intead of slowing down, taking the turn on the inside, where there wasnt a 250 ft. drop, he sped up. The yells of terror and warning in the crowds only pushed his adrenaline faster, and he pushed his foot harder on the accelerator. He waited until the last minute, until he was inches, no, centimeters from the edge, then he turned, leaning his body over until it almost reached the ground, the fabric of his jeans brushed against cement on one side, and on the flimsy metal railing on the other. Once the turn was over, he pulled up, letting out a whoop of exitement. The rest of the race passed in generaly the same way, with him inches to death on each turn.
The last set of turns was when most people thought he would loose his cool, push down on the brake he had not once used the entire race. It was physically impossible to take the five turns together at that speed, cramped so close you were litteraly taking u-turns at each. At least thats what they thought. He didn't slow down, but as he got closer, he brought his leg up onto the seat, and kept his speed. The turn was so sharp that the metal was scraped on the the road, practically sliding off the wheels and he was literally laying in air.
"One" He wispered to himself.
Then the next one, which he barely had enough time to pull the bike up, lift his other leg, and let it go back to the ground again.
"Two"
He pulled the bike up again, his arms straining from the weight, then let it smash back on the ground, on the other side.
"Three"
And again, he switched sides, his lithe body twisting with such speed it seemed impossible.
"Four"
On the last turn, it seemed he was going to crash. The metal skidded on the concrete road, smashing him into the railing. The flimsy metal flew from the cliff, about to send him with it. But with a grunt, he spun it around and, never taking his foot off the accelerator, he forcibaly brought it back on the road. He kept going, unfazed by his near-death experience, and turned into the finish line, finnaly skidding to a stop.
"Five."
There was silence, the crowd awed, not even the sounds of the other bikes were heard, as they were still too far away. All that could be heard was the slightly heavy breaths of the boy sitting on the motorcycle. The crowd looked uneasily at each other, wondering who this boy was. Then, they started to cheer, the voices a crashing roar of sound. He sat there on his bike with his head down on the cool metal untill he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw that it was one of the other racers.
"Yes?" He asked, taking off his helmet to reveal jet black eyes and shoulder lenght brown hair.
"Your good kid, I've never met anyone who's been able to beat me yet. Not even the proffesionals--at least not at my home track."
"Thanks..." He replied, leaning over to check the damage on his motorcyle, annoyed at the man's ego.
"You got a name?"
Looking the man straight in the eyes, capturing him in a gaze that ensured that the man was listening, that he wouldnt forget the words coming out of his mouth, he answered.
"Takeru"
...I just now noticed as I read through this that motorcycles dont have accelerator pedals...they have hand twisty thingys...oh well...you'll hafta live with it, cuz im too lazy to go change it. Hope Ya'llz liked it I had fun with this one. Baka Neko
A/N: Okies, i know i already wrote a second chapter, but it really sucked...so I did it again. I lik this one betta! well have fun reading my pathetic excuse of writing. ::dodges a book thrown by Monkeystarz:: FINE! ::mumbles:: Have fun reading my fantastic writing.....
He took his place at the starting line, breathing in deeply, closing his eyes as he waited for the gunshot. His brown hair just barlly peeked out of the helmet, giving the impression of grass hanging from a cliff. His body was relaxed, his hands holding loosely to the handle bars, his legs stretched out on either side of him. He knew what the other racers were thinking. Something along the lines of, "Stupid teenager doesnt know what he's getting into, just wants to look cool, acting all calm." He smirked as the man lifted his hand into the air, easing languidly into position as his mind was running the track on its own its own.
"Lets see who doesn't know what he's getting into now." He mumbled to himself as the lead was shot into the air.
He had only seen the track once, he hadn't been able to run it, since he was an "outsider" who came from New York to challange all these men that claimed themselves the best. Even so, he had every turn memorized, every angle and crack in the road commited to memory. He zoomed ahead, going extremely fast, another thing that would consider him sutpid, since there was a hairpin turn not even 100 ft. away. But intead of slowing down, taking the turn on the inside, where there wasnt a 250 ft. drop, he sped up. The yells of terror and warning in the crowds only pushed his adrenaline faster, and he pushed his foot harder on the accelerator. He waited until the last minute, until he was inches, no, centimeters from the edge, then he turned, leaning his body over until it almost reached the ground, the fabric of his jeans brushed against cement on one side, and on the flimsy metal railing on the other. Once the turn was over, he pulled up, letting out a whoop of exitement. The rest of the race passed in generaly the same way, with him inches to death on each turn.
The last set of turns was when most people thought he would loose his cool, push down on the brake he had not once used the entire race. It was physically impossible to take the five turns together at that speed, cramped so close you were litteraly taking u-turns at each. At least thats what they thought. He didn't slow down, but as he got closer, he brought his leg up onto the seat, and kept his speed. The turn was so sharp that the metal was scraped on the the road, practically sliding off the wheels and he was literally laying in air.
"One" He wispered to himself.
Then the next one, which he barely had enough time to pull the bike up, lift his other leg, and let it go back to the ground again.
"Two"
He pulled the bike up again, his arms straining from the weight, then let it smash back on the ground, on the other side.
"Three"
And again, he switched sides, his lithe body twisting with such speed it seemed impossible.
"Four"
On the last turn, it seemed he was going to crash. The metal skidded on the concrete road, smashing him into the railing. The flimsy metal flew from the cliff, about to send him with it. But with a grunt, he spun it around and, never taking his foot off the accelerator, he forcibaly brought it back on the road. He kept going, unfazed by his near-death experience, and turned into the finish line, finnaly skidding to a stop.
"Five."
There was silence, the crowd awed, not even the sounds of the other bikes were heard, as they were still too far away. All that could be heard was the slightly heavy breaths of the boy sitting on the motorcycle. The crowd looked uneasily at each other, wondering who this boy was. Then, they started to cheer, the voices a crashing roar of sound. He sat there on his bike with his head down on the cool metal untill he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw that it was one of the other racers.
"Yes?" He asked, taking off his helmet to reveal jet black eyes and shoulder lenght brown hair.
"Your good kid, I've never met anyone who's been able to beat me yet. Not even the proffesionals--at least not at my home track."
"Thanks..." He replied, leaning over to check the damage on his motorcyle, annoyed at the man's ego.
"You got a name?"
Looking the man straight in the eyes, capturing him in a gaze that ensured that the man was listening, that he wouldnt forget the words coming out of his mouth, he answered.
"Takeru"
...I just now noticed as I read through this that motorcycles dont have accelerator pedals...they have hand twisty thingys...oh well...you'll hafta live with it, cuz im too lazy to go change it. Hope Ya'llz liked it I had fun with this one. Baka Neko