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What does the fox say? This fox plans to be verbose. Go Team Florent! GoT Challenge stuff. |
Jen kicked the front fender of her Mini and then screamed when she noticed the sizeable dent she'd created. Muttering under her breath she slammed the driver's door and felt the tremor radiate up her arm. Why was this happening to her? The wisps of steam still swirled from the car's propped open hood. Stranded just about covered her predicament. Forcing herself to breathe in through her nose and exhale slowly through her mouth, Jen swiped her perspiring brow with one of her sleeves. Okay, she thought. I'm not going to pull out my hair. That would be drastic not to mention crazy. My becoming bald will not help me at this moment. Her heart began pounding and her skin recoiled. Was that a spider web daring to tickle her cheek? She couldn't help it. She yelped. She brushed her face. The creepy sensation remained so, she bent to peer into the car's tiny side view mirror. What was that? A single strand of her hair lay plastered against... wait a minute. Was that a smear of black grease dissecting her forehead? Jen stopped herself as she began to spit onto a finger. Great, now she was turning into her mother. Grumbling she tugged open the very door she'd assaulted only moments before and reached for her bulging purse. With one yank she freed it from the passenger seat and sent it hurtling to the dusty road. Of course the contents spilled out at her feet. Surprised she had any groans left, Jen stooped to scoop her wayward possessions finding the tissue she'd wanted in the first place. This spontaneous road trip kept getting better. Straightening to avail herself of her reflected image once again Jen somehow managed to bonk her shoulder off of the upper corner of the ajar door. Biting her lip and dancing in pain she wondered who referred to their vehicle's open door as a jar. Wait, was it whom? Did it matter? Her attempts to scrub away the grease residue only caused it to spread in a dark stain. She needed something more than her own spit and remembered a bottle of water tucked into a cup holder. She hoped she had at least one more stretch in her arsenal and she leaned in to retrieve the plastic container beaded with slippery droplets. Before her other hand could lend its assistance she lost her grip. Water puddled at her feet. Jen stifled another scream all be it one of frustration. Yes, she'd admit it. She was losing her grip. Oh, and now she could quite possibly perish of thirst. Perish the thought. Arg! Why did she think of these ridiculous things in times of stress? They certainly did not help in any way, shape or form. That's it. She needed to form a plan. Pulling her bag over her head and across her body, Jen brushed the wayward hair from her damp face, squared her shoulders and whispered, "Let's do this." This was action instead of reaction. She'd hike up the road and seek help of some sort, any sort really. Beggars could not be choosers. She probably looked like a desperate beggar. Frazzled. She'd describe herself and her current situation as frazzled. After what seemed to be miles but in reality was likely mere metres of plodding and inhaling dust, Jen pondered her whereabouts. Was this the road less traveled? Why didn't she see any other traffic?Shouldn't there be cars, trucks, cyclists, even a pedestrian or two? What about local wildlife? She shuddered and clutched her purse tighter. With each step closer to imminent expiration, Jen raised her head at the unmistakable rumblings of an engine drawing nearer. A great red cloud of dust shimmered and announced the arrival of a knight, a rescuer. Her pulse pounded and her breath quickened. A sputtering, belching dirt bike careened into view. Its helmeted rider stopped next to Jen and waved. In reflex she returned her own wave. After all a howdy is a howdy. The grime-streaked visor flipped up and two grey eyes appraised Jen. "Are you lost?" Jen considered the query. Maybe she was. She most certainly was not lost in thought. "That your car back there? The toy car?" She bristled but swallowed her retort and her pride. A rescuer, no matter their form, still meant a rescue. Although she knew it as stating the obvious, she replied in the affirmative. "Why didn't you walk into town?" Easy Rider then asked. "Town?" she spluttered. "Yeah, it's the other way. You're not from around here, are you?" Jen shook her head. To add insult to injury she'd chosen the wrong direction. She couldn't recall why she'd driven down this road. What was that song? Life is a Highway? Next time she'd stick to highways. "Can I ask you for a ride into town?" "Sure, you can ask. Just kidding. Hop on. I'm not promising there won't be bumps." Gritting her teeth and holding her breath, Jen climbed aboard. She could not have predicted the bone-jarring jostling in her future. Nor could she have yet formed a pledge to never ever again ride as a bouncing passenger on a dirt bike. As she inhaled the heady aroma of exhaust and dirt road dust she did reconsider traveling the road less whatever. Perhaps she should accept she was a city girl.( 894 words) "Game of Thrones"   
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