- WhiteBird -

- Chapter two - WhiteBird

Casey woke late the next morning, the sun already shining intensely through the rundown curtains on his window.

The grey translucent fabric danced slowly near the floor, an effect of the vent blowing cool air into a room.

Nothing about his home worked just right. The air conditioner at its coldest was 76 degrees, water constantly ran red with pipe clay, his refrigerator was prone to let food go bad, and the floor creaked with every step.

Casey had lived in the trailer for the majority of his life, and it sat parked in a shady overgrown lot across from a row of others.

Each of the homes were different in shape and color, as his was tan and brown, and not nearly as large as some of the others.

Casey didn't mind though, he spent just enough time at home to sleep and shower, and he was off to the desert near the West border of Texas and Mexico, where he could play and race on the large abandoned streets.

He tried not to associate with other street racers who met there. They were, if not anything else, rather intimidating. Most came from further east in a group of towns unlike his, and each kept in their own little group, eyeing the other without mercy.

Everyone there thought they were some kind of badass, with more skill and engine than the next, but what kept the gathering on the calmer side was the fact no more than a few people would show up at a time.

The area was more of a watering hole, a place to escape, rather than an organized meet.

Casey hardly ever saw the same person there in a months time.

It had only taken him a few minutes to dress and leave the house, the door slamming behind him as he exited its interior.

Sitting in the sun, sparkled his car. He wished dearly he had the money to fix what little that was wrong with it, and perhaps fix the engine that lost power at top end.

It was such an odd ailment he thought, but he lacked the knowledge in which to work on and fix it on his own.

He stepped down the small set of stairs that led to the ground, covered mostly in leaf litter, and walked to his only escape from life.

A car that could free him from the chains of his town.

Casey opened the two toned door, and swung inside, which smell distinctly like the Caribbean Colada air freshener he used, and deep rustic old spice.

He always thought it was odd the car lingered with the smell of old spice, and cinnamon, because it's something he never used or wore, but his best guess was it's last owner had sprayed the seats with the long lasting smell.

So much about the car was a mystery. It's origins, it's purpose, it's original owner, it's history.

The only clue to it's origin was the knight head logo engraved in the steering wheel. The insignia must belong to whatever company it came from, but in truth, Casey was frightened that if he found the owner, it might be taken from him.

There was a large chance that it had been sold by the original owner, who no longer wanted it, but there was also the chance it was lost or stolen, and Casey wasn't sure if he was brave enough to lose it.

He had won his first race in that car, got his first ticket, drove hundreds of miles on the back roads leading to nowhere, listening to loud music, and being the person he wished he could be always.

Free from the worry of the world.

The car started with its usual fierce growl, coming to a soft whine as he backed out of his driveway, and off to somewhere to eat.