Post by Neo53 on Jul 15, 2010 18:04:57 GMT -5
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Foreword:
I do not claim to be any good at writing, so critiques on writing is welcome so long as its purely constructive. I am not specifically looking for a crit, the main reason for this writing is to get Odamoqui's story out for everyone to read and understand where she came from and the trials she had been through before she worked to the life she has now. This is just the first chapter...
I also have to point out, the beginning of this story, this chapter in particular, takes place a decade prior to the present day.
I had no beta readers, so please do excuse my aspergers dyslexic idiosyncrasies.
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Chapter 1
The sudden surge of heartbreak and terror bore a hole straight through her soul like hot white ferrite through a block of solid steel. Odamoqui, a large black and silver Ford-Peterbilt hybrid pick-up, leaned against her trailer as the tears started to flow; her sobbing was quiet at first…growing into a sobbing scream as the reality of Derek’s death soaked in further. She still clenched the letter from the Index, Washington Police Department in her winch as a small crowd started to gather from all the commotion. They were to be married in 3 months, have a family together, live happily ever after and all the glitter and jazz that came with it. But this? Why this? Why now? Their lives together had barely begun it seemed and she already had to face living it without him – Completely alone.
She had no other family but her 70 year old grandmother which she had left in western North Carolina on the Cherokee reservation in their family's ancestral home when Odamoqui joined the service years ago. She never knew her mother, dieing from complications resulting from her birth, and her father was a rouge trucker her mother fell for one night at a lonely truck stop somewhere in Tennessee. Odamoqui had no brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles or cousins. Her grandfather died when she was still on training wheels.
They found Derek down a 200 foot cliff off a logging trail near Index up in the Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest – Their old off-road stomping grounds. The same trail they had used hundreds of times on their little adventures they used to go on together and with fellow friends. How could he have fallen? They both could have driven those trails blindfolded for hundreds of miles and never find themselves down the wrong side of that mountain. Something was missing in the police investigation, it didn't seem right, Derek would have never gone on a trail alone. But that didn’t matter right now. At the end of the day, Derek was gone and that is what hurt the most. There wouldn’t be a word, comfort or a single thing she could do to change the fact she would be forever without him. Forever was a long time and seemed even longer to her knowing she would have to face it by herself.
Her boss, a dark blue beat-up old Peterbilt who went by the name Chad, was quick to her side; news was quick to travel the large loading yard and straight to him in the dispatch office, “Odie?” he poked his large boxy hood through the small crowd of Odamoqui's co-workers, “Oh, Odie…” he frowned as he collected her up in his tires, already well aware of what had happened, holding her like a father would his child. Odamoqui welcomed the comfort of his warm hood leaning into his side as she shed more tears.
“Why?” Odamoqui cried into his side. He didn’t know how to respond other than giving her a reassuring pet of his tire. “This is a dream, I know it,” she added in a sob.
“Come on now,” Chad did his best to comfort her the best he knew how. The old rig wasn't known for his fatherly-like demeanor, so his affection came off a bit rough at best, “C’mon side with me and lets sit down for a bit,” the old blue Pete’ coaxed the over sized pick-up with a tug of her tire to follow, “Please.”
It took a few more tries to get the incoherent Odamoqui to slowly make their way to the offices were Cosette, a rugged red and cream little forklift who had seen her fair share of industry work, made way for Odamoqui and Chad. The little forklift was prompt getting the kettle boiling and warmed up a few small fruit filled croissants in the microwave, “What did I miss?” Cosette whispered as she leaned into Chad, doing her best to avoid eye contact with Odie. Last thing Cosette wanted was to make things worse, but her curiosity got the best of her first and foremost.
“Its Derek…will explain later,” The blue rig answered quickly, giving her a shove to the side so not to crowd up the way to his desk. Odamoqui couldn’t see where she was going, her eyes screwed shut with tears and the unbearable reality that has become. He guided her to the far end of the dispatch room with a soft tire to hers. Chad's desk was in the far corner, butted up against a long glass window which spanned across the entire dispatch wall looking into one of the two large warehouses the company possessed. His desk lived with all its dozens of mugs and ten times that in cigarette butts mashed in the two ash trays on top of the two of the tree large piles of overlooked paperwork either side of a large table-top calender with notes and contact numbers scribbled all over it. Cosette squeezed in between Chad and Odamoqui, throwing a warm blanket over the hysterical black Ford-Peterbilt with one fork as the other placed a simple plastic tray with the tea and croissants on the desk top beside her, “Here you go, Odie,” the little red forklift got in before being rudely scooted out with a large intrusive black Chad tire, “You. Work. Luke needs to be out'a here in 15 minutes, you help him. I’ll handle this.
Odamoqui found herself stopped at a light with what seemed half the city impatiently waiting around her glaring in their demanding ways up at the stubborn traffic signal. The uneasy energy rising around her did nothing but complicate thoughts even further, “What a fitting day,” she thought dryly to herself, shifting her weight back on all fours as the light turned green. She slowly moved off, getting a rude snort from the lady behind her.
“Move along?” it hissed, instantly impatient with the truck’s lack of speed. The champagne SUV whizzed around her - Odamoqui could care less at this point, eyes red and swollen from hours of sobbing - ignoring the SUV she moved a lane over and pulled into the parking lot of the motel she had been staying in for the last few days. “Impatient twit,” she thought coldly.
Chad let her off early once she had settled down enough to be coherent enough to at least be able to see the road in front of her and head home to collect her thoughts. It was unusual for her boss to be so understanding on this sort of level or any level for that matter - he was the grumpy type, always angry at everyone for something or other with very few words other than angry grumps of “What are you doing?! You're late! You're Fired! Get back to work!” Chad and Odamoqui formed a special relationship over the couple of years she had been working for the old Peterbilt. She never had a complaint, always worked her hardest without complaints, said thank you, and always had cake waiting for him on his desk every Monday morning. He grew accustomed to her smile and worth ethics, never having a complaint against her. He could never be angry with her, which was extremely unusual for the blue Pete'.
The little rig felt numb, unlocking the door to her room, number 47, slamming it closed with a rear tire behind her. Frustration shot up her chassis as her eye caught the giant mirror at the back wall of her motel room. With a growl, she marched abruptly up to the mirror taking a swing at it; not at the reflection, but at what the mirror didn’t reflect. Odamoqui swung short, knowing better than to start trashing what she didn’t own – especially at a motel where she couldn't afford any extra damage costs. Odie was left to glare up at what glared back down at her and let her emotions rot until she exhausted herself into sleep.
Life made a 180 on what was going to be a ‘happily ever after’ for a girl who has had it tough since the beginning. Always a hard worker, always trying to be a good person. Karma always seemed to swing in the wrong direction for the truck, always, or it seemed to her always when she thought it was safe enough to breath.
