꒰ 🎟️ ꒱ | 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ೃ࿔₊•

❬ ⸙: ✰❝ 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙺𝚈; ❀❞ ❭

🌆 :: ✰ ❝ 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙺𝚈 ༉‧₊˚🌂 | adjective; involving the possibility of something bad happening. Only today, it wasn't a possibility. It happened, well it's happening.

"LARA IF YOU DONT GET DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT-" I heard a voice yell over the loud roaring crowd.

"ROSE, ROSE, ROSE" they chanted momentously at the top of their lungs. I could feel their enthusiasm from across the room, my heart thundering against my ribcage. I looked down to witness a man, his face as red as a beet with fury. He was sweating bullets. His office clothes consisted of a tie, which was loosened, a shirt, with sleeves cuffed till his elbows and a pair of slacks that fell till his ankles. I present to you, my stepfather, Frank Evans fresh out of a multimillion business meeting, quacking with rage.

Now more than ever wanting to disobey Frank, I turn to my right and watch a boy with a muscular build adjust his helmet. His leather jacket wrapped tightly around him as he positioned himself on his 1970 Harley-Davidson XR-750. He looked at me assuringly through his helmet, waiting for my cue. Without hesitating, I shove my helmet on my head and get on my bike before slightly nodding my head.

Risky, couldn't begin to describe what I was doing right now. I could hear him revving up his engine. the adrenaline floods my system like it's on an intravenous drip - right into my blood at full pelt. I think my heart will explode and my eyes are wide, letting in every ounce of the fading light. My adrenaline surges so fast I almost vomit, I can taste the saliva thickening my mouth to a rancid paste. At some point, I'll have to do it, after all, I've made it this far. "NOW" I yell

At the drop of the hat, we were launching off the 8-foot ramp. A sense of euphoria filled me as we were in the air. I haven't felt this carefree since my 16th birthday. My dad drove me to a piece of land he bought in my name. we were on his bike and we sat over the hill and I watched him smoke a cigar and he sneaked me a few puffs

The brilliant orb of amber and tangerine sunk lower and lower in the sky until it dipped down into the horizon, painting the sky in magnificent hues of fiery red and crimson. The colours faded from maroon to neon pink and majestic purple. An impossibly bright orange coloured the world a sparkling gold as the sun descended. The sky changed from cornflower blue to a subtle purple, speckled with diamonds and adorned in one large orb of opal.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. "Montecristo number 2," he told me as I inhaled deeply. a strong aroma of spices filled my lungs almost sweet and overpoweringly spicy. I coughed out my throat burning, and my lungs on fire. I hear my dad laughing heartily his voice raspy before he snatched his cigar back.

my moment was interrupted when my bike came crashing to the ground. to my surprise, I 

landed on both wheels. my confidence skyrocketed as the crowd erupted in cheers. I was so caught up in the moment I forgot where I was.

"Nice job Fiorella," he says to me with his helmet in his hands as his hair fell on his face. His hair, dark and lustrous, had a sheen like fine hardwood. But that comparison isn't entirely fair, hardwood doesn't swish gently like his hair does, swaying with the words he speaks. A shiny varnish catches merely light around it, but the depths of that deep chestnut brown reflected all the radiance of his smile. Just like clockwork, frank appeared out of the blue again to ruin my moment. 

"ALLARA EVANS" he yells enraged, his face the colour of an over-ripe tomato, eyes squinting meanly, his anger boiled deep in his system, as hot as lava. It churned within, hungry for destruction. Allara knew she was fucked.

Only she could fight fire with fire. Lara took after her father like that. Her father had a temper like no other, no one could stop him, not even Lara. her knuckles were white from clenching her fist too hard, and teeth gritted from an effort to remain silent, her hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid-burning, slicing, potent. Her face was red with suppressed rage, and when Frank even set a finger on her shoulder, she swung around and mentally snapped.

"MY NAME IS ALLARA ROSENBERG. JUST LIKE MY FATHER, AND I WILL NEVER BE AN EVANS"

her voice was so loud it was enough for the whole stadium to hear. an arm grabbed onto hers. it was the boy she was with. "run" he had whispered in her ear before dragging her along. they made a break for it running through the crowd of cheering fans. Frank could try and chase them but they'd be long gone. He didn't bother he stood there expressionless, his face like stone, eye hard and cold.