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Whiplash

The Boy from Rhohan

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(this is experimental, be kind)

May 22nd, 2292 - New Austin, Rhohan, Aho Eridani System

22:00

 

The truck dug it's off road tires into the loose, arid soil. The exhaust shrieked an unimaginable tone of anger, power, and unrestricted strength as the white pick-up cut across the terrain. For miles all around them it was nothing but rolling hills and grass. The truck would takes bumps and ruts with ease, either gliding over them or simply dipping as it threw rooster tails of loose dirt. The extended cab housed a driver and a passenger - Matthew and Emma. The two sat in total comfort as they made their way across the seldom-used dirt trail, listening to the radio in silence. The early summer heat had subsided by this time, granting the two a rather favorable temperature and climate. The truck dipped, swerved and turned - eventually coming across a cliff. Matthew spun the truck around, as to where the tailgate faced the string of winding valleys which was once in front of them. As the truck settled, the dust from their reckless romp crept up, which was nothing more than a minor nuisance. Matthew cut the engine and lights, leaving the radio on to provide background noise, just in case. They both slid out of the raised truck, pacing to the tailgate.

 

"This... this is beautiful." Emma said, breaking the silence. Above the two was the full night sky dotted with hundreds of stars and, of course, Rhohan's big sister - Cassandra. Without light pollution, the two absorbed the scenery - the night sky reflecting perfectly in a stream running within the valley beneath the duo. Matthew reached over the edge of his tailgate, pulling a lever and dropping it. Contained within the bed was a stainless steel cooler embossed with the Morita Arms emblem and an attached bottle opener, of which was absolutely coated in dust. He climbed into the bed, strutting to the back of the cab. His footsteps echoed and reverberated as he stepped towards the cooler, opening it to reveal a twelve-pack of cold Aspen beers. He pulled two from their confines, offering one to Emma. She accepted the beer, twisting off the cap and tossing it to the ground beside the truck. Matthew sat down on the tailgate beside her, glancing at her before following her eyes to the sky. He found himself mindlessly twisting the cap off, taking a swig whilst looking up. She's right, it is beautiful. He thought to himself. A flash of inspiration hit him immediately afterwards, prompting him to wrap his right arm around Emma to grip her right shoulder.

 

"Just like you." He quipped. He quickly interrupted his smirk with a sip from his beer. Emma's face lit up as she turned to him, giggling.

"Why'd I know you'd say that?" She asked jokingly, playfully pushing him.

"Because I'm the best damn wordsmith this side of the Kuiper Belt." He delivered with a reassuring smile.

 

"Matthew Russell Squires, you're gonna be the death of me."

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June 6th, 2292 - Outskirts of New Austin, Rhohan, Aho Eridani System

19:00

 

The brakes squealed as the truck as it came to a stop in front of her house. Stealth was mostly redundant as the glass pack-equipped exhaust ruined any ability for his truck to slink around unnoticed. All of the lights were on in her house - and if any weren't, they would soon be. He was, admittedly, quite reluctant to attempt a 'stealthy' extraction, as Emma has previously informed him of her father's status as a former Mobile Infantryman. But, she persisted, and it led him to now. She was anxious to get out, to get away from her father - to live. Her father, to Squires, wasn't a bad man in the slightest. His intentions were simple, it was all about his daughter. Matthew knew that he wouldn't approve of yet another country boy pulling up in front of his house in a rumbly, scraggly truck with dirtied boots, worn jeans and an equally disheveled flannel, but he thought she was worth the risk. So he took it.

 

The front door of the ranch house opened, with a figure silently judging him from behind a smoked-out screen door. He knew who it was. The figure, however, disappeared - presumably walking off to confront his daughter. He wouldn't have much luck, though, as she was already opening her window to escape his wrath. What Matthew didn't expect, though, was for him to come back - wielding his Morita. Matthew immediately knew the situation, and honked to warn Emma of the impending danger. She froze mid-way through her window, letting the scene unfold in front of her.

 

"You! You son of a bitch! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" The father demanded, racking the bolt on his rifle. He stampeded towards the truck with the perceived full intention of harming him. Matthew quickly looked around the interior of his truck for anything that could help him, but had no luck. He found himself with no option but to put his truck in park, step out, and confront the man. And so he did. Matthew slowly walked towards the front of the truck, standing in the rays cast by his headlights - at gunpoint. "Well?! Fucking speak, god damnit, or I'll blow your fuckin' head off, you hear me dumbshit?!"

 

"I... I was coming to take your daughter out." Matthew meekly replied, obviously quite shaken from having a weapon pointed at him.

"You think I'm fuckin' dumb? Boy, you're fuckin' stupid. Gimme one reason why I shouldn't kill your ass right here, right now." The father responded, pushing the weapon towards him to accent his question.

"I-- I--" Matthew attempted to respond, but found himself speechless.

"Don't you dare shoot him, Dad!" Emma called from the window. She had, by now, completely climbed out onto the canopy.

"Don't you tell me what to do! I'll be havin' quite the talk with you after all this is settled, young lady!" Her father responded, briefly looking back at her - and taking his weapon off of Matthew.

Seeing a window of opportunity, and not one to be outdone, Matthew cocked his right arm back and gave her father a mean right hook - knocking him to the dirt. He immediately scrambled back, climbing into the driver seat of his truck while Emma's father was still reeling on the ground. He pumped the truck a few times in neutral, sounding off his eight-cylinder war horn. In the side view, he could see her father clamoring to his feet, immediately searching for his lost rifle. Matthew dropped it into drive, actuating the clutch as he did so. He pinned the gas, sending up a tail of loose gravel, sand and dirt up behind the truck in hopes of forming some sort of rudimentary smoke screen. It obviously didn't phase him. As Matthews sped down the dirt driveway, he came under a volley of fire. The sound wasn't completely alien to him, as he had fired his father's rifle before, but never had he been on the receiving end. The sound of bullets ripping through his tailgate trumped the sound of his exhaust, of his radio - of his heartbeat. He didn't know how many rounds had hit his truck - but the sound of shattering glass indicated that he had lost a taillight. It was a short lived thought in his mind, as a round struck the rear window of his truck - shattering it akin to an especially intricate spider web. Matthew skillfully synchronized his gas and clutch as he hammered it onto a main road and off of the Brooks' property. He had escaped.

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On 2/8/2018 at 12:01 AM, Whiplash said:

(this is experimental, be kind)

now this is my kind of experimental indie-avant-anti rock

 

actually p good story though, but its a little too wordy at points for me lay off the thesaurus imo

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