Joe's red bandana kept some of his long, blond hair from
blowing in his face, as the breeze went by. His unshaven face matched his
wrinkled, tattered t-shirt worn inside out with the sleeves cut off. The muscles
of his arms were well-developed and his bronze skin reflected hours spent in
the sun. His bony knees showed through his worn and faded jeans with grease and
dirt swiped on the areas of his thighs. His boots were well-used with evidence
of cow pies stuck on the soles and sides.
Joe’s mind raced, as did his pulse. He was fuming inside,
wishing there were some other way. He revved the engine of his motorcycle and
headed for the setting sun. He would never go back home… ever.
Precious Linda, c. 2012
Note: This was written
during my Practice Writing Group with a randomly chosen word of: motorcycle,
for 10 minutes.
Very good. As usual, you imagery shines through!
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