Drag at Dawn

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A loud, insistent knock jolted Sawyer from his sleep, the abrupt sound reverberating through the quiet of his apartment. Groggy and disoriented, he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. 'Who's knocking like this? It's way too early for this,' he grumbled inwardly as he stumbled toward the door.

The knocking continued, relentless and demanding. As he opened the door, he was greeted by Ezekiel, who wore a slightly mischievous smile, his eyes gleaming.

"Get ready, we're going out," Ezekiel declared, striding into Sawyer's apartment with the confidence of someone who knew he wouldn't be refused. He plopped down on the couch, making himself comfortable.

"Where are we going?" Sawyer asked, confusion lacing his voice as he shut the door slowly, his mind still trying to catch up with the sudden intrusion.

"Drag race." Ezekiel's smile grew even more mischievous, a glint of excitement dancing in his eyes as he revealed their plan.

"Drag race…?" Sawyer repeated, his voice a blend of exhaustion and bewilderment. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The idea of participating in a drag race so early in the morning seemed absurd, almost surreal.

Ezekiel leaned back on the couch, his casual demeanor contrasting with the adrenaline-fueled activity he was proposing. "Yeah, a drag race. There's a spot a few miles out of town where they're setting up. Thought it'd be a good way to blow off some steam," he explained, his tone casual but with an underlying eagerness that hinted at his anticipation.

Sawyer blinked, still trying to wrap his mind around the sudden change in plans. He glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands barely past six. "Ezekiel, it's barely dawn. Are you serious about this?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

Ezekiel's grin didn't falter. "Absolutely. Come on, man, it'll be fun. Besides, you could use a bit of excitement," he said, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

"Yeah, I know it's pretty early, but there's one being hosted on the Riverton Bridge. Everyone is already there, and you'll get to see some of the best street racers in action. Plus, this will be a good chance to introduce you to most of the group. If they get to know you, they'll be more likely to vote you in," Ezekiel explained, his excitement palpable.

"This early…?" Sawyer muttered, rubbing his eyes once more as he glanced at the pale light of the rising sun filtering through the living room window. The soft, golden hues painted a serene picture that contrasted sharply with the wild proposition Ezekiel had just thrown at him.

"Yes! Now get ready, we're leaving in an hour," Ezekiel declared, grabbing the remote from the side table and turning on the TV. The sudden blast of morning news filled the room, but Ezekiel seemed more interested in a rerun of a realtor TV show, his chuckles filling the space as Sawyer trudged toward the bathroom.

Sawyer stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over him, washing away the remnants of sleep and fatigue. He let out a deep sigh, the steam enveloping him in a comforting embrace. His thoughts drifted to the events of the previous night. It was almost surreal, the whirlwind of emotions and adrenaline that seemed to define his life lately.

After a quick but thorough shower, he stepped out and dried off, pulling on the same outfit he wore the night before. He glanced at himself in the mirror, noting the faint traces of exhaustion still lingering around his eyes.

Sawyer walked back out to the living room, where Ezekiel was engrossed in the TV, giggling at the antics of the characters on the screen.

"Ready?" Sawyer asked, the lingering tiredness still evident in the lines on his face and the sluggishness in his voice.

"One second," Ezekiel replied, his focus intensely fixed on the TV screen. He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he became absorbed in the unfolding drama.

On the TV, a reality show played out in vivid detail. Two women stood toe-to-toe, their faces contorted with anger and betrayal as they argued over a man they had both slept with. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of accusations and defensive retorts. The camera zoomed in on their expressive faces, capturing every flicker of emotion—the tightening of jaws, the narrowing of eyes, the pursing of lips.

The first woman, her dark hair cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, gesticulated wildly, her hands slicing through the air as she spoke. Her eyes flashed with indignation, her cheeks flushed with anger. "You knew he was with me! How could you do this?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word.

The second woman, her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, stood her ground, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. She exuded a cool, almost dismissive air, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. "He told me you two were over. Besides, he's not a piece of property you can claim," she shot back, her tone icy yet quivering with barely contained emotion.

The camera cut to the man in question, sitting awkwardly to the side, his expression a mix of guilt and discomfort. He glanced between the two women, clearly unsure of how to navigate the volatile situation. The tension in the room was palpable, the kind of drama that captivated audiences and kept them glued to their screens.

Sawyer shook his head, a mix of disbelief and shame etched on his face. "I don't know how you consume this stuff," he muttered, his voice tinged with a resigned exasperation.

Ezekiel, unfazed, grabbed the remote and switched off the TV with a decisive click. "You're thinking about it too much," he retorted, a slight hint of sarcasm coloring the end of his sentence. "That's peak TV!"

"Let's go," Sawyer said, a note of playful annoyance creeping into his tone as he turned towards the door.

Ezekiel walked out and disappeared into his apartment, returning moments later with his helmet and gloves in hand. His face still bore the remnants of a smirk from the morning's entertainment. By the time he stepped outside, Sawyer was already downstairs, leaning casually against his motorcycle with his key in the ignition.

The early morning sun cast a golden hue over the parking lot. The two rode south from California for about an hour, weaving through the dense morning traffic. As they approached the city of Verdantia in the distance, they could see a spectacle unfolding: motorcycles of all kinds covered the bridge ahead, transforming it into a vibrant gathering spot.

They slowed their approach, taking in the lively scene. Women, men, and children of all ages mingled, their voices blending with the sound of roaring engines and the screeching of tires. The bridge was packed with parked motorcycles, creating a narrow passage that only other bikes could navigate. More motorcycles lined the sides of the bridge, turning it into a bustling, makeshift arena.

Sawyer and Ezekiel maneuvered their way through the throng, the rumble of their bikes adding to the cacophony. They passed groups of spectators who were animatedly discussing the ongoing races, their faces lit up with excitement.

As they reached the heart of the gathering, the noise grew louder, the atmosphere charged with energy. The biggest group of spectators was clustered around a section of the bridge where the races were taking place. Engines revved aggressively, tires squealed, and the air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and gasoline.

Sawyer and Ezekiel found a spot along the side to park their bikes, the polished metal gleaming under the sunlight. They dismounted and joined the crowd, pushing their way through to get a better view of the action. The sight before them was electrifying: two motorcycles were lined up at the starting line, their riders poised and ready, the engines roaring in a deafening symphony.

"This is why I wanted you to come," Ezekiel said, his voice brimming with excitement.

As if on cue, the crowd parted, revealing a strikingly beautiful woman standing at the ready. She swung her arms down, signaling the start. Two motorcycles, poised for action, revved their engines, the tires spinning and gripping the asphalt. The roar of their exhausts reverberated through the air, the sound carrying far and wide, even echoing through the water beneath the bridge like the deep growl of a lion resonating across the savannah.

The sight was mesmerizing. The riders, focused and determined, became one with their machines, their movements synchronized with the sleek bodies of the bikes. Each twist of the throttle, was executed with an almost balletic grace. The motorcycles were no longer mere vehicles but extensions of the riders' limbs, their roars blending with the riders' hearts' pounding rhythms.

The motorcycle on the right surged ahead, the rider's body leaning forward, muscles taut with effort and concentration. The machine roared past the girl standing at the start line, a blur of speed. Moments later, the bike on the left followed, its rider pushing to catch up, the engine screaming with effort. The crowd's anticipation peaked, the air thick with the electric charge of competition.

The motorcycle on the right crossed the finish line first, and a wave of ecstatic cheers erupted from the crowd. The victor slowed, raising a fist in triumph.