Cars Are Over-Rated
"Wait, shut up, I'm writing," I told Mitchell* as he hung over my writing. I was in the middle of a post, couldn't his wining wait until later.
"I wanna see the go-cart now," he complained.
"Fine, whatever," I got up, and logged off. After that, I trotted down the stairs and outside. There, sitting on the neighbors driveway, was the most pathetic excuse for a go-cart I had ever seen. It looked like a skeleton, literally, and the paint was non-existent, but it was still cool. And it was all my little brothers, as he had pointed out numerous times.
I watched him ride around the neighborhood a few times. Finally, after plucking off enough grass to make a small patch of our lawn look like it was town up by a tornado, I stood up.
"My turn," I said.
"But, Kim," Mitchell wined.
"I really wanna ride the go cart,"
"It's my go-cart!" He protested. I made a pouty face, he shook his head, and I swear I saw him mouth the word 'pathetic', "I am not pathetic!"
"Well, you still can't ride my go-cart." he crossed his arms over his chest.
I gave him a death look, and then went inside. Later that night, I went back outside. My brother was over his friends house now. He would never know. I went over, and got the go cart. I started up the nearly ancient engine, and jumped a little at the noise.
A few of the neighbors had gathered to watch, and I took off. I waved hello to the many populars who lived on the street, and continued on down to an undeveloped section of the neighborhood. Before long, I reached a rounded part of the street and turned around.
All the way I pressed the gas as far in as it went. I could picture myself crossing a finish line in a race.
The plaid flag waves, the crowd cheers, "And in first place," the announcer calls, "Kimberly Ronalds." I step up, and hold a trophy in my hand.
"Thank you everyone, it's such an honor to be here,"
I got brought back to reality as I pulled up back at the neighbors house.
"I bet you still wish you were young enough to ride a go cart," I said to my neighbor, Shea.
"Nah, I'm too old for that stuff," he retorted, "I have a car now."
"Cars are overrated," I said, and gave him a once over. Then I turned away from him. I suddenly remembered, and pulled off my helmet. I shoved the helmet into his hands and turned back around.
As soon as I did, I heard the engine start.
*All names have been changed for privacy sake.
Most of events in this story are true, but some of the dialogue has been changed for content and/or for the sake of comprehension.
