Rodeo Drive: A Narrative Fiction

“Round’em Up and Move ‘em Out!” and “A Life on the Trail” give information about how life was on a cattle drive. Think about what might have happened if you were actually participating on a drive.

Horses running, bulls bucking, and flame throwing are all thing that you could see at a rodeo. When I was in the fifth grade I went to a rodeo with my girl scout troup . We saved up for almost a whole year. We sold cookies, earned money, and waited for the exciting weekend trip to A.J Ranch.

“Round’em Up and Move ‘em Out!” and “A Life on the Trail” give information about how life was on a cattle drive. Think about what might have happened if you were actually participating on a drive.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the Tahoe. My kids were restless from the 7-hour drive and all I could hear is my son yelling at his sister to get her legs off of him. I whipped around and yelled stop but to my surprise I couldn’t help but laugh because my little girls’ hair looked like she just finished a treatment of shock therapy. I told them to hurry up and put their shoes one because the marina was only a few minutes away.

Dust spewed off my rear fender as I pulled into my arid Arizona drive, that day it was a hot one, over 100 °f. Pulling around the curb of my rural neighborhood I was greeted by my family. “Daddy!”, my kids yelled, “your home!”. I saw my wife come up to hug me. I looked up seeing a clear blue sky lit up by the sun. “I’ll never leave you guys, your the best family ever”, I said. My wife invited me inside for lunch, walking through the door I felt a sharp pain, I yelled, I flinched, waking up, heart beating fast and head pounding. Then I felt it, my back, in the worst agony i’d ever experienced before.

About a month ago I graduate at Jensen Gymnasium Västerås in Sweden. I had a thought of a road trip in the U.S, so I talked to my friend Elisabeth, who lives in Texas. I asked her if she wanted to go on a road trip with me and she said yes.

I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, but I guess it's easy to miss something you don't want to see. So now, here we stand, a pleading look on his face and a blank look on mine as he tries to convince me it was a one time thing, he'd never do it again, he didn't want to hurt me, etc, etc. And I want to believe him. I want to believe that him kissing someone who isn't me was all a big misunderstanding. I want to believe that this is the first time he's done this. I want to believe he'd never do it again.

Two minutes away from my apartment is one of the most beautiful and popular boulevards in Los Angeles named “Ventura Boulevard.” Daily strolls with my cousin took place on that boulevard. On the paved streets, we struggled to make any progress against the thongs of passers-by and gawkers. On our right laid the vast and all encompassing mountains twinkling with lights as if it were the universe and the lights were all the stars within. The deep arousing aroma of coffee pervaded in the air, originating from the coffee shops at every intersection, refreshed our minds and reminded us of how much we loved of coffee. At the corner of the intersection people stood in lines fondly waiting for the theatre doors to open and be welcomed in by the tough

"You know what?” Remy continued, “Simon’s got goo goo eyes for Clair. You see the way he looks at her.”

I woke up meeting the eyes of a monster, a flying monster. That is how my last morning in “El Rancho”—my dad’s hometown, which is more of a jungle than a ranch— started. Immediately, I spring out of the meager and worn bed, which had no doubt, has seen more years than I, and ran toward my younger (and braver) cousin. I knew if this crow-sized moth came near us, my cousin would shoo it away. My mom grabbed a pillow and frightened it out the room (for there existed not a shoe big enough to kill that mutant insect).

Led like a convict condemned to a lifetime in prison and flanked by two incredibly capable orderlies and bound with her arms behind her back, the girl radiated raw spite and hatred. She didn’t belong here, not at all. What happened to her was not her fault. She did not ask to by tormented, tortured, abducted, brainwashed, raped, possessed, amongst a nasty amount of other detestable subjugations. And yet, here the girl was, suffering further because so many others had made her suffer. The girl was a survivor, a fighter, an apex predator. She had made it this far, although by the skin of her teeth at certain times. For her entire existence, the girl had been plagued with a darkness she knew all-too-well, a darkness that led her to the conclusion that there was a high probability of her succumbing to it and becoming a villain, grotesquely transforming into the type of evil beings she had fought since her early teens. Ending up either in prison, condemned to death, or simply dead would come to no surprise to her. But being committed to a psychiatric hospital for the most notorious and fucked-up of superhumans? Unfathomable.

Up-close, he can see the red flushing her face - due, mostly, to the drink she’s holding - and the drips of sweat that gives her a soft glow. Her hair is messy and she stares at him, bright eyed and a faint smile on her lips. He swallows - she is pretty, and it almost leave him breathless - and smiles

Fiona grinned. “You’re always welcome here, darlin’. Is Ray planning to stay there as well and commute to Macon?”

The road trip to Sedona from Las Vegas was exciting, for the first hour. If I was writing this story fictionally, I would have told you that the five-hour road journey was a blur, in real life it wasn’t. On the US-93 highway, there were to choices look outside or stare at my lap or foot. Neither were exiting. Most of the time I looked outside to see an empty dessert speeding past me. On this desolate desert, there is a terrible problem, there isn’t any Wi-Fi. As I looked outside I thought that I might die of boredom. A five-hour long road journey without Wi-Fi meant no watchable movies nor any playable games. This boredom continued for about five hours.

“Come with me,” he said. “I have an errand on the city walls, and I would like you to be there with me.”