Excerpt: Bat Out Of Hell

On a warm Saturday evening, Wally Phoenix sat on the edge of his rumpled bed in the middle of his messy room and strummed his guitar as his stared out the window at the setting sun. The itch in his soul was one he knew there was no way he could scratch himself so he stood up and set his guitar in its stand beside the window, pulled on his boots and leather jacket, and walked from the room.

As he walked through the house, his father yelled at him; but after so many years of the same, Wally didn't hear it. He simply let the front screen door slam as he marched up to and sat astride his black motorbike with silver trim that glinted in the last rays of the fading sun. He kicked and started the bike, and then twisted the handle to gun the engine and careen across the front lawn, leaving a mess of broken sod in his wake.

Once on the road, he headed for the outskirts of town where he could race across the open ground as fast as his bike would take him. It was only with the throttle wide open that he felt alive. The wind blew his long hair behind his head and his face was slashed at by every bit of sand and every bug that was unfortunate enough to be in his way. The only safety gear he deigned to wear was a pair of goggles. Dressed in his leather riding suit, and goggles, he tore down the road looking for something to ease his pain. He was nothing but a lonely boy looking for something new.

Wally was seventeen and a senior at Monroe High School. Not terribly academic, the only class in which he had a perfect attendance record was detention. He didn't much care for anything but football, his motorcycle, rock and roll music, and girls. And the order of those things was in constant flux. On this particular night, he was most interested in finding some place to let off steam.