a young man's drag race
Sons are different. My son is: tall & tiny, aggressive & vulnerable, powerful yet laconic.
Untapped power can blast out, like a lurching burnout by a novice drag car on the launch pad. Potent & highly destructive.
Done wrong that uncontained raw energy can scald spectators, but for the driver it brings on depression, smouldering resentment, anger & confusion. He quietly reverses the dragster into a dark corner of the shed. The driver sits & stares over many lonely & quiet hours, trying to configure a way to maintain steerage as the power hits.
In his chest he knows, if he can master this machine, victories will come. But the threat of a violent death or permanent incapacity hovers.
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