Kay crouched beside his old motorcycle, his brow furrowed in concentration. The golden sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm amber hue over the rusted metal and faded paint as he twisted the throttle, pressed the battered kickstarter again with all his might.
The engine coughed and sputtered, a pained groan escaping from the depths of the machine like a patient nearing their death. It just refused to roar to life despite all his efforts.
Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his determination unwavering, he decided to try again. He adjusted the choke, hesitated for a moment and then gave it another kick, harder this time. Again, still nothing but the sound of gears grinding in protest, reminding him of the neglect the motorcycle had endured, the painful times he tried to baptize his cat.
Sighing. He checked the fuel gauge, confirming it wasn’t empty. He inspected the spark plug, grimacing at its worn condition before he carefully cleaned it with a rag he found stuffed in his jacket pocket. For a brief moment, he thought he felt victory close at hand as he began to reassemble everything, but after several more kicks, each more desperate than the last, the motorcycle continued to mock him with its silence.
Kay slumped against the tire, exhausted and utterly defeated. He felt a pang of nostalgia for a time when his motorcycle soared on one wheel, sharing the dream of racing on the open road. He remembered a friend who had always been there for him during his endless job hunt, driving him through every hellish challenge and hardship the interviewers unjustly imposed upon him before the interviews even began. The memories of a friend with whom he had seen better days.
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He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the soothing rustling of the wind, trying to recall those golden times and yet, despite his mightiest resistance, the sound of a random funeral dirge kept echoing in his mind.
The new white striped dress shirt and black trousers, which had been perfectly neat just moments before, were now wrinkled and damp with sweat, adding to his misery, offering his weary soul no comfort. But he was just too tired to do anything.
Only after a long while, did he seem to break out of the stupor. Jolting awake and as if remembering something, he fumbled for his brown waxed jacket, which he'd left on the end of the seat of his motorcycle.
Taking out a poster from the inner pocket of the jacket, he unfolded it carefully.
In the center, a handsome young man in a striking red helmet and jacket, with the word "Shipper" emblazoned in gold on his back, raced his motorcycle off a collapsed bridge. He soared through the air above the sea, half-standing on the motorcycle, which had ascended at a perfect 45-degree angle. His face was a mask of tense coolness. His posture was professional, poised for the landing. Clutched tightly in his hand was a pristine package, held close as if it were precious.
Behind him, on the far side of the broken bridge, a group of gangsters—perhaps thieves, street robbers, car blockers, or some combination thereof—watched with a mixture of anger and awe. Some, the more daring, attempted pursuit, but most plunged into the water along with the collapsing rubble of the bridge, a few triggered massive explosions as they fell. Others, who managed to launch themselves after him, flew through the air on motorcycles or in cars, weapons out, gleaming dangerously.
On the right side of the poster, directly in his path, was an enormous door with a nearby, beautifully decorated silver sign that read "Destination."
From the bottom right to the upper right of the poster, the path beyond the opened door seemed to lead to a beautiful castle. The surroundings were decorated with countless small, colorful light bulbs and whimsical animal icons. At the end of the path, near the castle, a charming, romantic girl sat on a bench in a dreamlike garden. Oblivious to the mayhem just beyond her doorstep, she seemed to be waiting for someone, her cheeks flushed as she glanced shyly at her ring finger.
At the top of the poster, the words "SHIPPER WANTED!" blazed in a large, colorful font, playfully styled with white stripes, while at the bottom, a golden quote, enclosed in quotation marks, read: "Take your package, ride your bike, it's time to change the world."
Kay looked at the beautiful poster, yet his heart ached.