Feb 10, 2024 19:57:45 GMT
Post by Meika Hijiri on Feb 10, 2024 19:57:45 GMT
A young woman careens down a Tokyo sidestreet on a motorcycle covered in crimson red decals. Her arms are bare to the heavy, humid air of summertime, and there is no helmet to be seen on her head, letting loose to the world her poorly cropped black-and-red hair and her blunt, messy bangs. In fact, all she's wearing is a black crop top and oversized jeans that are ripped along the knees, which makes it painfully obvious to anybody seeing this scene that this girl, Meika, has a wanton disregard for her own life. It doesn't help that she's short enough that her feet can barely reach the foot pegs, and her hands can barely reach the handles.
When Meika got this monster and proceeded to decorate it in the coolest decals she could possibly find, her mom was furious. Not because Meika could hurt herself, no, but because the daughters of aspiring entrepreneurial women certainly do not ride motorcycles. They don't get naval piercings either, nor do they wear jeans that are so frayed that their entire legs can be seen through the holes, but Meika did all of these things anyways, because if there's one truth in life, it's that life is too short to not do exactly what you want to do. So, when the roads are clear and there's few people to witness her feats of poorly-thought-out daredevilry, Meika takes this time to take her motorcycle out for a spin, and do the kinds of things polite young women would never even think of. In her head, the entire time she's riding, she can only think of one phrase—fuck you, mom! I do what I want!
That includes taking a turn too quickly and skidding into a dumpster at nearly fifty kilometers an hour, she supposes. The sound of tires screeching on concrete and the smell of melting rubber fills an empty alleyway as Meika, at nearly full speed, is sent flying from her motorcycle to the floor a few meters away, cringing and yelping with pain as she feels her skin shred on the sidewalk. Though the motorcycle is, surprisingly, alright, even despite denting the dumpster it now lays alongside, Meika certainly isn't. Curling into a ball, she curses under her breath as she nurses numerous patches of her arms and legs that have been rubbed raw with friction, blood staining her palms and skin hanging by threads at the site of the wounds.
