The burnt out shell of the stock car sat wedged between the scavenged Chevy and the old Beetle in the desolate wasteland of the junkyard. Being only small, Darrel managed to slide himself easily in through the car’s glassless windscreen, and twist himself around so that he was sat in the driver’s seat, his little hands gripping the wheel excitedly. Darrel closed his eyes, and heard the roar of the crowds, the shifting growl of the engine as he overtook another car, his nostrils filling with petrol fumes and burnt rubber, his visor steaming up as he flew into the last corner.

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Tim Waltho

Latest posts by Tim Waltho (see all)

• A Sky Full Of Stars - 28/12/15
• Chusovaya - 04/04/15
• Siberia - 29/03/15
• View From the Window - 23/03/15
• A Day on the River - 11/03/15