Figured I would try and work on something. So I wrote the same thing twice. Perhaps next time I will cut-N-Paste rather than wasting time on such. I wonder if letters were alive if they would protest my use of them. Would they be angry that I wasted thier ability rather than letting someone else create with them. Would they mock me like my eyes do when I look in the mirror? Perhaps it is best otherwise I would probably write more with a vengance knowing I am killing any future these letters have of being in something decent.
The engine stopped in the middle of its cycle. A foot went down to the ground and a kickstand followed suit. The bike leaned over to the left a bit as someone got off of it. A pulling of the key out of the ignition and customary removal of the helmet reveals a young man with a bit of stubble on his chin. A grim look in his eyes and anger in his steps as he starts walking towards the door. Determination filling his hands along with the keys as he puts it into the door and unlocks it. Anger and restraint as he opens the door slowly and closes it behind him with it already locked. The door snaps shut and a light flicks on. The helmet soon abandoned on a hook along with a leather jacket. Steps echoing through the hallway until they reach a kitchen. Another light and a door opening as a hungry figure peers into the ice box seeking something to sate his hunger. Sadly nothing there to sate his anger. Reaching in and grabbing some old chicken and a beer he makes a plate appear out of nowhere and into the microwave it goes. Set for a minute he pops the top off the beer and wanders around the dinning room and presses a button. The answering lights up and repeats the callings of lost souls seeking him. A ding from the kitchen and he goes back to grab his food. Footsteps echoing through the hallway again on into the living room. A groaning chair as he sits down and ponders the nights events.
The roaring engine stops in silent protest. The lack of gas to it leaving it desiring much more. The bike leans over to the left and a foot stomps on the ground following a kickstand. The groan of the bike as the figure lifted himself off of it. The quick snap of the helmet as he pulled it off of his head. The look of a young man with a few days of growth on his chin looking down at his bike. Pulling the keys out of the ignition he places them in his pocket and heads up to the door. Pulling the keys out quickly and jabbing the correct one into the key hole he unlocks the door and enters. A swift turn and push the door shuts quickly locking behind him. A hook on the wall jabbed into the helmet and a jacket that quickly followed. The footsteps echoing down the hallway with urgency to warn everyone of his arrival. A stop in the kitchen and a opening of a door shining light on the young man. A hand jabs in and grabs a bottle then it comes back again to snatch some left over fried chicken. A plate dragged from its resting place and forced onto the counter so some chicken could take up residence on it. Then a microwave door opened and the food gets stuffed into it. A slam of the door and a quick turning of the dial starts up the heating process. The footsteps slowly enter into the dinning room. A finger hitting a button on a answering machine starts the playback of messages left for him. No movement until after the first message. Then quick steps into the kitchen as he tries to escape the sound of lost souls calling for him from the little mechanical box. The ding of the microwave and the chicken is pulled out. Then to the living room as the footsteps again echo forward warning of his impending arrival. A chair groans as he plants himself in it and leans back in the darkness.