Three red lights shimmered in the summer haze. The cars on the start line continued to rev, golden licks of flame shooting from the silver and black exhausts. One by one the lights went dark. Both cars screeched from the start, flame and smoke trails in their wake. Before you could wipe the heat and dust from your eyes it was over. Dad had won again.
‘Well, he’s only gone and done it, Brad.’ I turned towards my little brother, but he himself was already turned away – lost in his own world. Brad had never really shown much interest in racing; he’d never really shown much interest in most of the things our family was known for in the county. I though loved all of it: the cars, the competition, the noise, the excitement. But I was a girl and girl’s don’t race.
The fans in the stands cheered as this year’s champion made his way back towards the pits. In a few years Brad would be expected to take over the family concern – expected to become the next champion to raise the family name high. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Dad would be heartbroken, but in time I hoped he’d understand.
Other entries for SPF can be found here.