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So, the Real LJ Idol is picking up once again. It's been a bit, so just to remind you, it's a group of us who are given prompts for which we need to write a story. that story then gets published along with others in the group, and when the stories go live, people are free to read and vote on those stories they like the best. I'm hoping that this one will be one of those that move to the next round. I had a lot of fun with this last time - it was my first time participating and I wasn't the first out nor was I the winner. It was great experience in writing to a prompt, however.
The prompt this time was "Someone who will love you in all your damaged glory" and here's what I came up with.
DAMAGED GLORY
Erulisse (one L)
Speed was everything. Although she had gone through the usual steps of wiggling, crawling, push-pull, run-fall-run and finally walking; before long she was running and it was all her parents could do to keep up with her little legs as they wandered from room to room in their small apartment.
A tricycle seemed to help calm her for a bit. It increased her speed. The furniture bore bruises, and one small table was put into the apartment dumpster, unsalvageable. Her parents discreetly replaced it when she no longer placed the furniture in danger, her control increasing and her height changing enough to allow for a true bicycle.
A bicycle! Speed that was only limited by how fast she could pump the pedals. Her time in training wheels was minimal – she was independent and craved more speed than her parents could muster, running next to her to keep her on the apparatus when she wavered.
Time continued and she grew older and taller. Bicycles morphed into motorcycles – dirt bikes and street bikes. She adored speed and the feel of the wind against her face. Motorcycles then morphed into automobiles, and she fell in love. She didn’t fall in love with a man or a woman, nor a child, not even a pet; the sound of a perfectly tuned engine under the hood made her heart race.
She began frequenting the racetracks around town. Initially she was tolerated by the pit crews as a bit of a pest. She asked too many questions. But she refused to leave, retreating to the sidelines but watching every move. Over time the crews became familiar with her presence, and a couple of the grease-hands began chatting with her while on their breaks. She asked a pointed question or two; “Why did this engine work better than that one?” “What would happen if they switched from this configuration to that one?”
They laughed at her inquiries, but they also answered them if they had the time. After many months, a couple of the men took her under their wings – so to speak – beckoning her closer when they were working on one or other tricky part on a carburetor or changing the spark plugs from one side or other. Slowly they grew used to her presence, and allowing her to hand them tools and teaching her as they went. She got limited hands-on experience, but she learned from the best.
She was in her mid-20’s when she started frequenting junk yards, looking for the perfect car for a personal project. She had saved her money – allowances when she was a child, wages as she grew up and worked part-time after school. She knew what she wanted to get – a sleek fast car that had seen better days. One that she could rework into a track-ready automobile.
“Hey. Gotta a car here – just came into the lot. Might ye wanna come and take a lookover,” the gruff voice barked.
“Will do”, she quickly replied. “I’ll be there in an hour or so, as soon as I finish this engine.”
“A-yup. I canna save it for you for longer than today.”
“Understood. I’ll be there. Thanks.”
Looking at the junked car in the lessening daylight, she nodded. It was in sad shape – one side caved in from the T-bone accident that had brought it to this fate. She was looking at a wreck. But in her mind, she saw it – new body panels painted in brilliant colors, a purring engine - perfectly maintained, and an oval around which she could race it. Nodding she went into the small office to pay the fees and arrange for it to be delivered to her workspace. “You’re going to be a speed demon on that track,” she murmured as she gave the twisted metal a stroke. “You’re going to be glorious!”
The prompt this time was "Someone who will love you in all your damaged glory" and here's what I came up with.
DAMAGED GLORY
Erulisse (one L)
Speed was everything. Although she had gone through the usual steps of wiggling, crawling, push-pull, run-fall-run and finally walking; before long she was running and it was all her parents could do to keep up with her little legs as they wandered from room to room in their small apartment.
A tricycle seemed to help calm her for a bit. It increased her speed. The furniture bore bruises, and one small table was put into the apartment dumpster, unsalvageable. Her parents discreetly replaced it when she no longer placed the furniture in danger, her control increasing and her height changing enough to allow for a true bicycle.
A bicycle! Speed that was only limited by how fast she could pump the pedals. Her time in training wheels was minimal – she was independent and craved more speed than her parents could muster, running next to her to keep her on the apparatus when she wavered.
Time continued and she grew older and taller. Bicycles morphed into motorcycles – dirt bikes and street bikes. She adored speed and the feel of the wind against her face. Motorcycles then morphed into automobiles, and she fell in love. She didn’t fall in love with a man or a woman, nor a child, not even a pet; the sound of a perfectly tuned engine under the hood made her heart race.
She began frequenting the racetracks around town. Initially she was tolerated by the pit crews as a bit of a pest. She asked too many questions. But she refused to leave, retreating to the sidelines but watching every move. Over time the crews became familiar with her presence, and a couple of the grease-hands began chatting with her while on their breaks. She asked a pointed question or two; “Why did this engine work better than that one?” “What would happen if they switched from this configuration to that one?”
They laughed at her inquiries, but they also answered them if they had the time. After many months, a couple of the men took her under their wings – so to speak – beckoning her closer when they were working on one or other tricky part on a carburetor or changing the spark plugs from one side or other. Slowly they grew used to her presence, and allowing her to hand them tools and teaching her as they went. She got limited hands-on experience, but she learned from the best.
She was in her mid-20’s when she started frequenting junk yards, looking for the perfect car for a personal project. She had saved her money – allowances when she was a child, wages as she grew up and worked part-time after school. She knew what she wanted to get – a sleek fast car that had seen better days. One that she could rework into a track-ready automobile.
“Hey. Gotta a car here – just came into the lot. Might ye wanna come and take a lookover,” the gruff voice barked.
“Will do”, she quickly replied. “I’ll be there in an hour or so, as soon as I finish this engine.”
“A-yup. I canna save it for you for longer than today.”
“Understood. I’ll be there. Thanks.”
Looking at the junked car in the lessening daylight, she nodded. It was in sad shape – one side caved in from the T-bone accident that had brought it to this fate. She was looking at a wreck. But in her mind, she saw it – new body panels painted in brilliant colors, a purring engine - perfectly maintained, and an oval around which she could race it. Nodding she went into the small office to pay the fees and arrange for it to be delivered to her workspace. “You’re going to be a speed demon on that track,” she murmured as she gave the twisted metal a stroke. “You’re going to be glorious!”
