Note: Another short one. This story is 125 words.
Pistons pumping, concentration set everything rests upon this race. Staged at the starting line, poised for the signal, seconds seem like hours. Amber. Amber. Amber. Green. Churning and burning leaping across the line, gasoline evaporates in record time. Dashed lines appear solid and the world becomes a blur. Pouring on the power easing into the turn, tires slide on this wild ride. No room for error no turning back only bumping and jumping and flying round the track. Miniscule adjustments never sacrificing speed articulating precise maneuvers testament to driving prowess. The finish line in sight the lap almost complete full focus fixed upon the goal. Flashing past the finish checkered flags go down. The only word that matters is the only one you hear: Qualified.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer