Ben - Chapter Two

Waddling down towards his motorcar, the noticeable limp had run far beyond the subject of many a drunken Friday night joke. This was here to stay - the subject and product of many nights a pickled liver.

The suitcase laden with tools was swung with a skeptical whinny over the rear door of the rusting green station wagon, landing awkwardly atop two planks of soaked wood. The wronged suitcase was corrected without so much as complaint, it needing to be an inanimate object even for the purpose of this story.

The door was opened less carefully and let out a resigned creak, as if to rue the moment - fearing being left to rot in this same field. As quickly as it had opened, it was sharply closed, the motor sagging to one side under its new guests.

The engine started with a whimper, and then coughed into action like an elderly patient, put put putting out its mix of gasoline and fatigued engine oil - a foul smell that could knock an elephant on its side.

The car reluctantly took off, struggling to grip the soaked grass and scale the hidden rocks underneath.