Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write in the ADVENTURE genre (05/24/07)
TITLE: Joy Rider
By Venice Kichura
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"Van's late," Henry waved back.
"Yeah, sure hope they didn't cancel. It's my only thrill anymore since my daughter took away my car. She’s been trying to get me to go to a ladies’ Bible study next door, but I need more excitement.”
"Kids!" Henry snorted. "We can get along just fine without them. My son moved me in with him after taking away my car keys just because I drove into a ditch."
“The drivers’ license folks wouldn't renew my license either just because I couldn't see the yellow lines that well,” Dorothy said. “My daughter moved me down the street from her and took away my car. Feel like a prisoner.”
"Phone!” Dorothy shouted, rushing back into her townhouse. “Don't let the van leave without me.”
Minutes later Henry's phone rang, too.
They both walked outside, their heads hanging down.
"Blasted van! Why did it have to break down today?" Henry wailed across the street. "On double Bingo day."
"Yeah, I know,” Dorothy sighed back. "Guess it's another “electrifying” day of talk shows and soaps..."
"Come here," Henry motioned to her.
Dorothy ambled across the street.
"My son's gone all day to a seminar," Henry said, pointing to the old red pickup truck parked on the grass. “I still have a spare key that he doesn’t know I have.”
He pulled out his key chain and showed her the key. Then he reached for his wallet, fingering his license. "See? I can still drive."
"What about the crossed-out date?" Dorothy asked.
"Do you trust me or not? If you wanna watch your soaps, then stay home. But I plan to win the jackpot at double Bingo today."
“So do I,” Dorothy shot back, changing her mind.
“Then let’s hit the road.” Henry smiled, opening the car door. “Bingo starts in five minutes, Miss Dorothy. “
Dorothy buckled her seat belt, as Henry fired up the engine.
The pickup sped off, leaving black telltale marks on the grass. "Freedom!" Henry bellowed, cranking down the windows.
Dorothy gasped, jerking her head around as she noted the intersection they just passed, as well as fuming motorists yelling four-letter obscenities from their screeching cars. "Wasn't that a stop sign?” She asked, her voice quaking.
"Oops...I'll stop the next time," Henry said, his face flushed.
Dorothy held onto her hat and adjusted her bifocals, as she stared at the speedometer. “You’ve passed the 80 miles-per-hour mark. Aren't ya goin' a little fast, Henry?"
"Can't read the speedometer that well,” Henry said. “But don’t worry, there's not much traffic in this neighborhood.”
They spiraled through another crossroads, as Dorothy squealed, "Red light! Please slow down! Maybe I should drive?"
“Sorry, but it was more like an orange one" he reasoned. “It was yellow when I first saw it.”
Then bright red and blue lights flashed in Henry’s rearview mirror as he powered up past the 90 miles-per-hour mark.
"Henry! There's a patrol car in back of us. Pull over now!" Dorothy demanded, covering her ears.
"Relax,” Henry said, scooting across the median into the southbound lane.” I'm not doin' anything wrong. What do they know? And, what do the doctors know? I say I'm fine—-And I don't have beginning Alzheimer’s, either."
"He pushed the pedal all the way to the floorboard and zoomed down the highway, now followed by more than one patrol car. By now, motorists were pulling off the road to get out of the path of the crazed red pickup.
"Dear Lord!” Dorothy cried. "You're gonna get us both killed!” Then she thought about the Bible study next door.
"God, it's me, Dorothy," she stammered, folding her hands. "I know I haven't checked in for awhile, but if you can just get me out of this truck, I promise to talk to you more and even go to the ladies’ Bible study."
"Help me, Jesus!" She cried as the truck veered off the highway, crashing through a fence, into a cow pasture, halted by mammoth-size bales of hay.
Curious cows, chewing on their cud, glared down at them. Half a dozen patrol cars stopped as seething officers bolted out of their patrol cars.
Through grateful tears Dorothy cried, "Thank you, Jesus! I'll never complain, again.”
Hmmm…Maybe that neighborhood Bible study isn’t so boring, after all.
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