"FWLS52" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)A Future We'd Like to See 1.52 - :)
By Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne (Copyright 1994) PFFffffttt, the tire whistled, as my bike scraped to a stop. Aw, come on, not NOW! I hopped off the ancient Schwinn and examined the front tire. Poo! A nail ripped a gash in it... no way to patch it, and my apartment was still ten blocks away, near the coast. Ya know, normally I wouldn't care; I love the sea air and don't mind nature hikes. But see, this place, it wasn't, like, NATURAL. It's Sandline, after all, the community with two halves to it... sorta metaphorical. During the day things are okay, just a buncha volleyball players, sunbathers, surfers, and little brats running around the arcades pretending to shoot stuff (eww.) According to my watch, it was nine PM. Beyond nightfall. When the sun goes down and the moon comes out, the gangs, the Night People come out to feed. They're really repulsive guys, all dark and nasty, just WAITING to pounce on any Day People that got caught out too late. I like how they're all civilized and junk and keep their evil little hijinks to nighttime, but it does mean I need to get LITTLE too long working on tomorrow's flower-arrangement orders, and like... lost track of time. You know how these things are. As a result, I was stuck in the middle of the coastal city of Sandline at night with a flat tire and a long way to go before I'd be safe. You couldn't see the beach from here, there were too many buildings in the way. Doesn't anybody turn on their lights anymore? I couldn't see anything, either, except for the little patches of sidewalk lit up by the dim streetlamps. It felt like I was trapped in a bad gothic movie. But I've never gotten unhappy in a not-nice situation before, even that time I was trapped in some mad scientist's house at age nine, forced to be dramatic. (It's another story... I think someone wrote it down, so like go look for it or something, I don't wanna repeat it.) So, I brightened up, matching my smile to the happy-face button on my shirt and pushed the bike along the road. SQQUQUUUEEEEEAAAAAKkaaaakkkk... Well, maybe I should have oiled it this morning. No worry. I'll just quietly continue to push it along, avoid the Night People and make it home before I have my throat cut open and |
|
|