Idea: This is based off of my previous idea entitled Decay. A biker of a 1% club finds himself out of prison after ten long years, and embarks on a spontaneous relationship of sorts with a person met on his first night of freedom. The relationship serves to decay one's normal, happy life, into something different... It'll make more sense as you read on with the characters and themes...
My Character: My character is one that I've recycled from a past group game in addition to a couple of story attempts. He's a man in his thirties, recently released from prison, and facing the changes in the world for the first time. His life and the world's changed in the time he's been gone, especially with his motorcycle club, and seeks to gain control to right the ship, so to speak.
Your Character: This is where the heart of the story lives. Your character should, I hope, be different than he and the life he's accustomed to. The original idea called for a more straight-laced good girl who just seeks some freedom in life she's never really had in the pressures of her life. This can easily change according to what you might like to write. One variation that I explored with someone, but did not get to really try, as they had to leave the site, was something of a long-lost sibling that neither of them knew about. One concept I would really love to try and explore would be a trans female (mtf), but again, it's all totally up to you and what you might want to do.
Themes and Outlook: The major theme for this one is culture clashes, and how two different people, from two different cultures, fall in love and how they cope with each other's lives. As far as an outlook, it's up to you. I do like the idea of her complete and total embrace of his life, to possibly the point of running from the law and starting a new life together. But it's up to you to discuss.
Also, my writing this kind of got away from me...
The feel of the breeze upon his face was different than the times before.
Sheridan Miller had been outside during his stay at Adamsburg. It was unavoidable, one of those unavoidable musts that were mightily desired by those like him. Time outside in the yard, a chance to feel the sun on their faces, the breeze on their flesh. It was a feeling that could not be had, sitting inside a cell, or looking out one of the windows. It was a sensation that one could not feel, walking along the sterile, florescent-lit halls of the prison. For many, it was the closest thing to freedom any of them had in years, and for a few, the only sense of freedom they would ever feel again.
For him though... On that day... Freedom was freedom.
A moment had to be taken as he stepped outside the release sally-port. A moment all to himself. Standing there, in the warm sunshine of the summer morning, knowing there was nothing out there holding him in. No fence. No armed guard. Nothing but the open air and open world, waiting to embrace him once again.
It didn't matter that he wore clothes that were old, unwashed from a pile of courtesy clothes, an old plain t-shirt and pair of sweat pants. It did not matter that ten years, ten long years, had been taken from his life. It didn't matter that all he had to his name were the clothes upon his back, the cheap, old and scuffed up tennis shoes upon his feet, and a check for a pittance of what had been in his commissary in his pocket. All that mattered, in that blissful moment was that he was free. Finally free.
“Is that mangy son of a bitch who I think he is?” A voice called out.
Sheridan's cold blue eyes opened from their savoring moment, looking out across the sun-lit parking lot to the lanky man in black. A smirk began to form under the long tangle of his beard, matching the smirk of the man leaning against the rear of an old mustang. It was somewhere in the space between them that they met, embracing one another in a long, tight hold on one another.
“You lucky bastard.” The man spoke, pulling back to look over him. “Well look at you. Grown a bit fatter, I see.” He teased, his hand going up to the bare chin. “Nice beard. Going into the homeless look, I take it?”
A chuckle, soft and faint came from Sheridan as Dave laid into him with the ribbing and jokes. It felt good to laugh, to have that sense of enjoyment that had been robbed of him for so long. His brother-in-arms could have made jokes about his mother, and still Sheridan would have laughed. Just happy to be out and free again.
“I'll give you the homeless look in a minute.” Sheridan remarked in his deep voice, with no hint of malice in his voice.
Dave laughed. “Oh-ho... Is that so?” He teased, giving a firm pat on the shoulder that quickly slid around behind his shoulders as the two began to walk back to the car. “Good to see you again, man. Didn't think I'd see you for a good while longer.”
“You and me both.”
It had been nothing short of a miracle, he had thought those months ago as he sat in his cell. All it took was one domino, one witness, for the case that had been brought against him to deteriorate. A recantation of a statement by a witness, the one thing that had been the proverbial nail in the coffin of his case. The one thing that had tied him together in the case against him.
And now he was free. Out there, away from the bonds that had held him in place. Out there, free to fall back into the life he loved, the only life he lived.
He fell into the life at a young age. Just like Dave and a bunch of the others. All looking for that sense of family that had eluded them in their childhoods. Some came from broken homes. Some from homes where their parents slaved away each and every day. Some were born into the life, by fathers who rode with the devil, or the women who fucked them. Some just never had that sense of camaraderie that had been missing. And with each other, they found it, and found the club that was the glue that held them all together.
He had been just like the others. A broken home; a father who had ran out long before he was even born, a mother who loved the pipe and cock more than him. So many days and nights of his young youth, trying to take care of himself when he wasn't taken up by CCP. There had not been anyone there in his life, no one there to look out for him but himself.
No one but the Brotherhood.
Ten years, he thought to himself as he sat in the car. Ten years. A lot had changed, just from looking out beyond the open window, at the streets and roads that passed them by. Ten years. How much had he missed?
“So what's been going on?” Sheridan finally asked.
Dave snorted in mild amusement. “More like what hasn't been going on.” He remarked with a shake of his head. “Brotherhood ain't the same from when you left it. Things have changed.”
He didn't doubt that, he thought. What news he had learned had been filtered down to almost nothing, with the ever watchful eye of guards reading letters and listening in on calls.
“Mike'll explain it all to you.”
“But you won't sugar coat it.” He said, looking over to Dave behind the wheel.
A soft sigh escaped his lips. “Shit's been changin', man. The world's been changin'. Ever since Mike took over when you and bunch of the big guys got locked up, things have been different. Ain't like it used to be.” Dave said with a hint of nostalgia in his voice as they drove on. “We ain't peddlin' pussy anymore. Got out of the pot business. Streets are flooded with that shit nowadays. Now, he's got us in the meth business. Got a lab out in the middle of nowhere, some smart cook. Make it and sell it out of state.”
Meth, Sheridan thought to himself uncomfortably. That things would change, would have to change, had not been in any doubt. It was a way of life. Evolution. In the case of the club, like most clubs and outfits, it was the evolution of production and revenue. Where would they find their next way to sustain themselves and their club?
It had been pussy and pot when he was young and joining up. A few girls who needed a few extra bucks, who didn't seem troubled with the how or why. A farm up north that grew some of the best green around. But that was all of the past. Meth was the present, the future. Meth, whose seductive effects had not been shielded from his own view.
“Gotta say though...” Dave said after a long moment. “Makes a hell of a lot of money.”
Sheridan snorted lightly in a quiet derisive amusement. “I'm sure.” He mused, reaching for a pack of cigarettes and lighter on the center console. The answer to his next question already given. Money was sure to make even the most conscientious of the group quiet. “How the old guys take it?”
“Well, it ain't like they got much of a say in things anymore.” Dave commented. “Jimmy is still locked up in Tulsa. Martin is somewhere up north fuckin' mooses or something. And Sid's retired.”
Softly Sheridan nodded his head. “Heard from Sid a few times.”
Dave nodded softly. “Damn shame what's been happenin' to him. Fuckin' Cancer.”
For a long moment, Sheridan's mind drifted to the old man. He who was like a father to him when he didn't have one in his life. The figure who helped to look out for him, helped to raise and shape him into the man he would eventually become. The bastard had been as tough as nails, strong and intimidating. Out of everything else in their life, all of the hazards and dangers, it would be cancer to do him in.
“You hear anything about his daughter?” Sheridan asked.
Dave shook his head. “Not much.” He said. “Heard she went off to college. Came back after a bit to take care of him.” A smirk came over his face. “Maybe she'll drop by at the party tonight.”
A groan escaped Sheridan's lips. “Don't tell me there's a party.”
“The fuck you think we ain't going to throw a welcome-home party for you?” Dave grinned. “Mike thought of it, and the old ladies and screws jumped all over it. Been fixing up the club house and cooking like crazy. Even went out to that dump of a trailer you called a home to clean and make it all pretty for you.”
“I don't want to go to that shit.” Sheridan said, resting his head against the headrest as the wind blew upon his face.
~ ~ ~
Half way into his beer, he was already feeling the first touches of regret in his mind, pulsating with every vibration against his thigh.
A long, deep drag of the cigarette came between his lips. The slow burn in the back of his throat welcomed, before being extinguished by the ambrosia that was a cold beer. He savored the taste upon his tongue for a few moments, the tinge of nicotine mixed with the moist taste of hops upon his palate. Heaven on earth... For how long had he desired nothing more than a cold beer and cigarette?
It felt good. It tasted good. Even with the changes in the surroundings of his once favorite haunt, it was a welcomed change from the cell he once called home.
There would be headaches in the morning. Shit talking and questions asked about where he went off to, where he could have possibly went that was more fun and enjoyable than his own welcome home party. Grumbles and rumbles of how some felt slighted by his absence. Some of the other charter members might feel a bit sore, inconvenienced for making the long rides from wherever home was for them to see the jail bird who would never show up to the party. Judging from the amount of vibrations from the alien phone in his pocket, buzzing almost incessantly with calls and messages, Sheridan felt sure the discontent was already in full bloom.
Let them wait, he thought to himself, taking another pull of the ice-cold goodness. He'd done his time. Did he not deserve a bit of peace and quiet? Did he not deserve a chance to do something he wanted with his reclaimed freedom?
It would not be as if the company at the party would be any better, he mused to himself, glancing around at the bar he once thought of as a second home.
Weekend Riders. Wannabes. The sort of men and women who thought it was some sort of mark of cultural achievement, to have a motorcycle and a leather jacket, to ride their bikes and frequent hole-in-the-wall joints like The Den, drink their lite beers and go back to what could only be described as their normal lives. The white picket fences. The families waiting at home. The nine-to-five jobs that no one cared about.
Was the Brotherhood any better?
From what he had heard, through the talks with Dave and his time behind bars, a clear picture had been formed in his mind. The shambles and ruins of what the Club was once. More boys than men, full of piss and vinegar, all talk and bravado. Slinging meth on the streets.
What happened to the club he once knew? What happened to the club he embraced and loved like a family? In ten years, the club that once struck fear into the hearts of men and law enforcement alike, had been burned away by the fires of time. What was left of the once famed club, the club he had sweated for, bled for, killed for, was reduced to nothing more but the cinders of a time forgotten. Looked after by fools who didn't know what they were doing, who were all bark, no bite.
Would they do what he had done for the club? Could they survive as he had survived? It was doubtful, an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. What was he going to do, he wondered, taking another long drag of the beer as he let his thoughts roam over the uncertain future