#mxkersmxrk

Ryan had never claimed to be a saint. He had his problems, sure. A little bit of stubbornness, a natural rebelliousness against his parent’s rules, all were typical of a teenager his age. But, beyond that, he was a good kid. He went to church on Wednesdays and Sundays, even helping with the Youth Program at the insistence of his Mother on Thursdays. James Ryan Haywood, and his three siblings, lived in a small town in the smack center of Georgia, a good hour’s drive from any major cities. Rather than attending the small public school, Ryan was home schooled, so that his parents could more closely monitor his religious studies. His Mother and Father insisted that they be a good, God fearing family, and Ryan tried his hardest to be the model oldest son. Yet, no matter what he did, it didn’t seem to be enough. So, he began to dabble in his little vices here and there. Such as this smoking, which he did as often as he could duck out of the watchful eye of his parents. It was the Sunday service, so most of the town was packed into the little church at it’s heart. He had slipped out under the lie that he was going to the bathroom and, originally, that was where he was heading. He only neglected to mention that he was also going to be slipping out of the window within the bathroom for a quick cigarette in the nearby clearing, just next to the parking lot. He jogged across the street, pack of Newports in hand. Once reaching the clearing, he hopped up on top of the little picnic table he had dragged in there one day, settling down and jamming the filter of one between his lips. However, once patting down his pockets, he realized quickly that his lighter was missing. Fuck. A sigh escaped him, and he stared up at the sky for a moment. He definitely didn’t have the patience to deal with the day without nicotine, so he began to hunt around for one he might have stashed around. That was when he noticed him. The motorcycle pulled into the parking lot next to the clearing, and he felt his breath catch in his throat at the sheer force of the engine’s roar. He knew that there were some older folks currently seated in the church, probably clutching at their purses and handkerchiefs in horror at the sound. For some reason, the image brought a smile to his face, and he trotted back across the street to the parking lot. He tapped two knuckles against the visor of the helmet, eyebrow arching. “Hey there, stranger. Got a light?” It was probably odd for a kid like himself to be asking for a lighter. After all, he was neatly trimmed and dressed to the nines in his Sunday best. Hell, he hadn’t even lost all of his baby-face yet and certainly hadn’t gained all of his height. Despite the baby-face, Ryan seemed to be a bit of a bean-pole, even the best fitting of his clothes seeming to hang off of his slim frame.