Rider: A Short Story

“Well, that’s the secret. I was worried about telling you, so I’ve been trying to avoid you for the longest time. But, I guess the cat is out of the bag now,” I said.

“Thank you for this new information. All this makes me wish I knew more about my family history.”

“Of course not.” She shakes her head. “I am a detective with the Washington Police.”

"The cops didn't believe me when it happened and they won't believe me now," She rambles nervously, pacing again.

“Besides, yer sister, yer Seanmhair is also aware. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

"I heard some cops talking about it and when you start asking me those types of questions, I assumed that's what we were talking about."

“I guess you’re right,” he said, dumbfounded. “But you have to promise, that if I tell you anything about me, you will never breathe a word of it to anyone.”

When riding fourwheelers you don't want anything important to fall off, but luck is not always on your side. Dalton was riding in the field next to his house with his cousin Branden. As they were driving through the corn husks the end piece of the muffler came loose and fell off the fourwheeler.

“It’s a lot to comprehend Joe, I’m afraid to say anything because they might find me.

According, to text “The Other Riders” there were more riders like Paul Revere, Dawes, and Prescott. They were the ones that warned New England and more. Dawes visited these town to warn Dedham, Needham, Framingham, Newton, and Watertown. In the “Paul Revere's Ride”, Paul was the only one that alerted the town. He warned Lexington, and Concord. The riders used lanterns so they could know where they were coming from The signal was one by land, two by sea depending if the British were coming by sea or land. These are the differences and facts from the passages.

“So how did you get caught if you could hear the cops coming from a mile away?” Criss grins and glares at her, he is trying to break her down

“I don’t know, but we need to look for information before we can go back.”

He sat pondering with stinging eyes outside in the frosty evening air. His head was throbbing with a migraine that carried his thoughts to darker times, times that made his heart burn. Times that now caused his lungs to only inhale, that suffocating feeling the feeling of deaths unbearable hug, the engulfment of pain. He had felt it many times before. The anxiety and stomach nausea was almost always with him though only he knew of it. This boy was fluid in the language of pain. For he had the scars the screams and the sorrow to prove it. Currently his lungs began to fail him only allowing an inhale of agony, no oxygen would be permitted to exit, because the panic would not allow it. His eyes begin to blur like they sometimes would and

“You don’t have to talk. That pale face and haunted look tells me everything I need to know. It’s Joan, isn’t it?”

Tracks were a pecular place, if there ever was one. Filled to the brim with both bad luck as well as good; the good just happened to be harder to come by. Every day the sun rose across those grandstands and kissed the dirt, someones dreams were either made or they lay broken in the dust of thunder hooves. It was a lesson Piper had learned from Alex, a phrase that was imprinted into her brain: for every dream that you lose, someone else gains. It wasn’t always easy to swallow those losses, to stand by while someone else took that proud podium, but it was the way the world worked. It was a never ending cycle it seemed, one moment you’d be the lowest of the low and the next you’d be on the up swing. It was that theory that had kept Piper driving