Erotica Harem

Review: On the Road: Revised
Chapter One
by: Max


Plot: Kiernan leaves his lover's bed and drives through a nasty rainstorm. Struggling to control his small car, splashed by numerous trucks and other vehicles, with zero visibility, he witnesses an acident that causes the deaths of everyone involved, except the truck driver. As he and the trucker await emergency services, the van's pasengers sucumb to their masive injuries, one in particular named Jase who asks about his daughter. Kiernan stays with him until he dies, and the trucker urges him further from the road. After the emt's and police arrive, he goes home, to hsi cat, and exhausted slumber. As he drifts under the influence of sleeping pills, he sees what looks like a pair of golden eyes and blond hair in a dark corner. Ascribing it to the refelction of a new street lamp, he settles into sleep.


Style and Voice: Clear and crisp, written in third person limited, so we are fixed firmly in Kiernan's viewpoint. No confusion here.

Referencing: no issues, squarely in present day Earth, Chicago.

Scene/Setting: The attention to detail is staggering. You have a talent for that. The storm seemed so real, I might have been driving in it myself. the traffic accident didn't miss a stroke though I wondered about thunder and lightening. YOu might add a little more about that, the rest however was amazingly detailed. I could see it, smell, it, etc. Any other stray thoughts will be in the line by line

Characters: Kiernan, Jase, the trucker (don't recall his name right off, if it was given) Perhaps not

Kiernan: Terrific introduction: Kiernan has just left his temproary lover's bed, knowing he wont call or see him again, hasn't to slightest intention of furhter involvement. Infact he grumbles about the distance he now has to drive to return home. He also ruminates over an upcoming trip to St. Louis. While we are solidly in his viewpoint, I have the impression there is more to Kiernan than we have seen so far.

Grammar: nothing noted

Personal Opinion: Got my attention! I had my fingers crossed and the adreanlaine pumped hard as I wondered if Kiernan would get caught in that accident or if he would manage to avoid it. The spooky element of the shadowy figures and the eyes in the dark room made my skin crawl just a little, but the image was fleeting and I wonder if Kiernan didn't imagine it, that way I can say I imagined it. Floating eyes in the darkness. *shudders* I see the beginning's of your usual supernatural twist here and can't wait to see where this leads. I think Kiernan is in for a devil of a time. *grins* Thanks for a terrific opening.

LIne by line:

"On the Road -- Revised"





It was We Who created man, and We know what dark suggestions his soul makes to him: for We are nearer to him than his jugular vein.
The Qur'an, The Letter of Qaf, 50:16.

In this manner even the gods give special honor to zeal and courage in concerns of love.
Phaedrus, The Symposium of Plato, 179d




Chapter One
Chance




Kiernan shrugged into his shirt and avoided looking the naked man in the eye. He couldn't recall the trick's name.

Naked guy ran a finger down Kiernan's cheek. "You can stay the night, if you want."

"Thanks, I really need to go." He fiddled with the door.

"You've got my number? I'd like to get together again."

Kiernan patted his shirt pocket. "Yeah, right here." He hesitated, and pecked the man on the cheek. "It was great, man. Thanks." He slipped out the door without bothering to button his shirt. As he strode toward his car, he savored the pleasant burn in his ass where the guy had so recently been inside him. He was hot. Maybe I will call him. He knew he wouldn't.

Dark clouds obscured the stars. Flashes of lightning danced in the clouds and thunder grumbled. A cold wind rippled through his blond hair and his clothes fluttered against his lithe form. He shivered, and clutched his shirt to himself. Hurrying through the crowded cars, he climbed into his ancient Celica. ignore previous mention of thunder and lightening above--I see on second read you got that covered

He tried to find a radio station, but the only one not obscured by static was a hell-fire-and-damnation preacher. "Fuck that." He snapped off the radio and flipped through his CD case. He pulled into the street to the delicate textures of Philip Glass's opera Orphée. By the time he turned onto the expressway, rain splattered across his windshield, and soon turned to a steady downpour. The little car shimmied and fought the wind as the storm intensified.

Kiernan thought ahead to his vacation later in the week, and visions of the baths in Saint Louis danced in his imagination. Been a long time since I've been out of town. Should be more action than I know what to do with, even on a weeknight.

He sped up, hoping to beat the worst of the weather to his apartment on Chicago's north side. He'd met his trick in a dance club on Halsted, and followed him all the way to Evanston. Shit, I would have hooked up with someone else if I'd known he lived this far away.

He turned the wipers to high when a semi-trailer rig passed him. The spray off the tires left him blind for an instant, and he tapped his brakes. a little passive: The spray off the tires blinded him for an instant. "Take it easy, now." The steering wheel jerked as his tires hydroplaned against the wet pavement. He slowed even more. The rain fell in furious torrents, sheets that swallowed the road. "Fuck, I can't even see the edge of the highway." He braked again. "Thirty five. At this rate, it'll take me an hour to get home."

A van zoomed past, racing along at least twice his speed. The spray in its wake washed across his windshield. For an instant, he again could see nothing but the glimmer of red lights in front of him. He leaned forward, gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, and peered at the roadway. There's the edge. God, these people drive like suicidal idiots

His wipers swiped twice and he could see again, just as another semi-trailer rig roared by him. This time the spray was like driving under Niagara Falls. Water cascaded everywhere and drummed on the roof of his car. He tapped his brakes twice more and peered into the murk. In front of him, a billboard from the Chicago Transit Authority shined through the haze, urging commuters to ride the subway.

Ahead of him, the semi caught up with the van, then backed off. Homicidal maniac meets suicidal maniac. Perfect. At least he's not tailgating. Water pooled in the tracks worn into the roadway by years of traffic. His car veered again as it struck those puddles and lost traction. Maybe I can get in the drift of the semi, where it's swept the water away. He tapped the accelerator.

In the blink of an eye, the headlights for the van twirled about and pointed sideways toward the right ditch. The taillights of the semi flashed blood-red. Its tires squealed and its brakes smoked as it fishtailed to avoid the van. As if in slow motion, the two struck and the van floated through the air, spinning about, and crashing on its roof in the lane in front of him. Sparks flashed from where it scraped along the blacktop, whirling towards him.

Kiernan's foot leaped to the brakes as the van blazed toward him. His leg responded as though it moved through wet concrete. He fought with the steering wheel. It resisted, as though the very air about him were molasses. Nothing helped. The van, the sparks, his car, his very self, slowed to a crawl.

Time stopped.



He found himself sitting in his car, on the shoulder, his hands, cold and rigid, locked onto the steering wheel. "Mary, Mother of God, how did I manage to miss that damned thing? I thought I was toast, for sure." Headlights flashed across a form that lay crumpled on the shoulder in front of him. "Fuck, that could have been me!" A young man with flaxen hair knelt over the bloodied victim, holding his hand. When he looked up, his golden eyes dazzled and his wet hair bristled like straw in the wind. Kiernan blinked, and the body and the man were gone.

Shaking from the miracle miss, he jumped from this car and ran to the van. It was upside-down, one wheel still spun, and the smell of gasoline mixed with the wet fury of the storm. Inside, someone screamed without seeming to pause for breath.
you might add soemthing in here about a a flash of lightning puttng the scene into crystal clarity and stark releief for jsut a moment before driving rain blurs things again. Just a thougth, great imagery otherwise. Feels like I"m standing there getting drenched myself

The truck driver ran up to him. "Get off the road! Don't let a passing car hit you!"

Kiernan jerked as the spray from a car drenched him. He ran with the trucker to the shoulder and shouted, "What do we do?"

"I've called it in. I don't think there's much we can do."

A fire blazed in the van's engine compartment and spread to one of the tires. A foul stench filled the night air and smoke billowed.yuck, burning rubber--nice touch The screaming stopped. That can't be good. Another car screeched and swerved to avoid the wreck. The uncertain light revealed two bodies, broken and bloody, on the road. Kiernan ran to one to pull it out of the way of passing traffic.

"Don't move him, son. You might make a back injury worse if you do." The trucker lit a flare and put it next to the still form. "Go see how that one's doing." He pointed to another body, lying on the shoulder.

Kiernan trotted over to him. A bone stuck out of his leg and the impact had left his shirt in tatters. One arm flopped as he tried to move. "Take it easy. Help's on the way." He knelt by the man and held his hand. Over the drumming rain and roar of passing cars, someone's cell phone rang and rang. God, why don't they answer it?

"My daughter. How is she?"

"She's fine. Don't worry." Fuck, I don't have any idea if she's fine or not. I hope she wasn't the one screaming in the van. He tried to control his trembling voice. "Just hang on. Help's coming."

The man stopped struggling and gripped his hand like a vice. "Don't leave me." His voice was a whisper, a hoary stump of a human sound. "What's your name?"

"Kiernan. Don't worry, I won't leave. Stick with me. Everything's going to be fine." The man's face, even though pale from injuries, spoke of strength in its honed features. He had a crew cut, dark hair flecked with gray.

His eyes rolled. Blood flowed from the gash on his head. "I'm Jase. My leg hurts." just a thougth, but fresh blood has a distinctive odor, if he's close enough, he might catch a wiff, even in the rain

Kiernan glanced down where white bone jutted from torn flesh. A fluttering spout of crimson pumped from the open wound, smaller and smaller with each passing moment. Then it stopped. Kiernan looked back at the man's ashen face. "Stay with me. Help's coming. Don't die!" The man's hand grew limp and cold in his fingers.

The trucker gripped his shoulder. "He's gone, son. You can't do any more for him."

"He can't be dead! He just spoke to me!" Kiernan stared into Jase's face, and knew he'd never forget the man's features or this night.

"They're all dead. You did good, kid. Real good. You made it easy for him." He pulled Kiernan to his feet. "Here come the cops. Ambulance too. That was fast."

Red lights strobed through the storm, and sirens howled. An officer pulled him to one side, and yelled, "Stay off the road!" The ambulances and fire trucks arrived, but it was too late.

Kiernan wanted to stay, wanted to help. But the highway patrolmen just took his name and told him to leave. "We'll contact you if we need anything. It's not safe hanging around here."

As if having taken its toll, the storm abated to a drizzle. Thunder growled in the distance and lightning flickered on the horizon. Still trembling, Kiernan's chest heaved with each breath. He drove at a crawl to his garage apartment. Once inside, he didn't remember climbing the stairs or unlocking his door. He stood alone in his bedroom and shivered. His cat, Scratchy, blinked at him from his perch on the bed, and went back to sleep. Kiernan pawed in his nightstand, found two sleeping pills, and collapsed.

Two golden eyes seemed to peer at him from a darkened corner of the room. Above them, flickering from light to shadow, hovered what might have been a man's blond locks. What a strange reflection...must be from the new streetlight, he mused, too weary to investigate. He tugged at the sheets, and the drugs pulled him into the welcome arms of sleep. here is your trademark twist of the supernatural. *grins* I like it. More here than meets the eye.


Thanks for a terrific opening chapter!

Pat


http://patbruening.bravehost.com/index.html




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