#We had this whole epic arc surrounding Mary entering these major motorcycle races and pushing herself beyond...

[stargazerlillian]

A very big thank you to the one mutual who took the time to tell me about their oldest OC. In response, I felt it would only be fair and polite to tell you about the oldest OC I remember making: Mary the Motorcycle Queen.

Mary was a collaborative character, born in the minds of myself and my niece when we were 8 and 5, respectively. Her backstory is summarized as follows:

Ever since Mary was small, she had always been into motorcycles. She and her single father, Darren, would watch races on TV together and root for their favorite racer. She would spend countless minutes staring at each and every model on display at the motorcycle shop. Her father even owned a motorcycle himself and would sometimes take her for rides to and from school, much to the envy of her peers.

For years and years, her greatest wish was to own a motorcycle of her own that she could ride as much as she wanted.

On her 10th birthday, that wish came true. 

In Darren’s eyes, no event in her life made her smile bigger than when she ripped off the racing stripe patterned wrapping paper to reveal a hot pink mini motorcycle. It even had a flame pattern that matched the one on her father’s.

To say she loved it was an understatement. For hours and hours every day, Mary would happily ride her mini motorcycle in the driveway, swerving, sliding, rearing up, and occasionally out into the road and turning back around again. As far as Darren knew, his “Little Eaglet” would be soaring and racing with the best of them when she grew up. And when she did, he would be there to watch every single race and cheer her on, whether in the bleachers or at home on his TV.

She was going to be one of the best.

All that changed one late summer afternoon, when a drunk driver going 35 mph down a 10 mph road struck Mary down while she was making one of her turns back to head into the driveway, breaking many of her bones and damaging her right leg to the point of amputation.

The recovery was long and grueling. It seemed like forever before the pain finally began subsiding. 

Mary couldn’t understand it. How could something she loved so much hurt her so bad? This question continued to haunt her mind in the months and years that followed.

It was there when she wheeled herself to class, dozens of concerned yet unwelcoming eyes staring her down.

It was there when her father sat her down at the age of 12 to tell her he had finally saved enough money to get her a prosthetic leg, and that she’ll soon be able to walk again.

It was there when she finally got the hang of walking with her prosthesis 7 months after first getting it. 

And of course, it was there every time she looked at a motorcycle. What once was a symbol of excitement and freedom for her became a bringer of sadness and fear, as well as a constant reminder of the day she experienced the worst pain of her life. Anytime her father asked her to come watch a race with him, or go to the motorcycle shop, or to come for a ride with him on his motorcycle, her face would immediately fill with sadness and panic, and she would shake her head and run to her room. What often followed was a slamming of the door and the muffled sound of pained crying.

Darren could not have been any more heartbroken. The thing that Mary loved most had become the thing she feared most. And although it wasn’t his fault, he never really stopped blaming himself for all the pain and trauma she was now going through.

In the 12 years that followed after the accident, Darren and Mary grew more and more distant. She never touched her mini motorcycle again.

After college, Mary entered a period of disorientation that seemed to go on for ages. She now had a degree, but no jobs in her field were available. She was stuck working as a receptionist for a low-rated hotel in the outskirts of her town, making barely above minimum wage and had no friends to talk to. Everything today was just the same as it was any other day.

That was, until someone flipped the channel on the lobby television to live coverage of the FIM Motocross World Championship.

Mary froze. Even after 12 years, the sound of revving motorcycle engines racing in circles around the dirt track made her feel uneasy. She used all the willpower she had to not yell at any other staff members to turn it off.

She frantically continued to go through her paperwork, her nervous heart rate steadily increasing minute by minute. Occasionally, she would flicker her nervous gaze back up to the screen, and every time she did, she would see a racer make an epic crossing of the finish line and hear a roaring of cheers from the audience.

In an instant, she remembered everything. The wind in her hair. The vibration of her bones. The rushing of her pulse. 

Her dreams of being one of the best.

She swallowed dryly before staring down at the stack of papers in front of her. 

She can’t keep living like this.

Her fear was great. But her need for change was greater.

In what felt like a blur, she immediately left her shift early, went to the nearest motorcycle shop, and bought the most premium-grade motorcycle with what she had in her savings. Then, she started using her days off to start learning to ride again. She needed to be rid of her monotony.

The county motocross race was in 10 months. If she gets with it now, she might just be ready to compete with the other top racers in her area. Yes, she was scared. Yes, there could be a chance that she may mess up more than a few times.

But there was no chance of her living another day in fear. Life is too short to live the rest of it in fear - especially from what you love the most.

As she put her helmet on and revved her engines for the first time in years, a smile that her father would be more than amazed to see crossed her face.

Little Eaglet was going to fly again - and this time, she aims to go even higher than she ever did before.

This is the very basic gist of it. I know it feels kind of folktale-ish/mythic, but that’s kind of the point. My niece and I kind of always saw Mary’s story being like a modern-day myth/legend.

I haven’t thought about Mary in years, but it was fun pondering over her again and revising her story for this post. Forgive the pacing and potential plot holes - I literally came up with all this new information for her yesterday.

#Mary: The Motorcycle Queen #Mary Kingsley #My OCs #This is a more revised and updated version of her story BTW. It’s much MUCH different than the more over-the-top... #... and frankly bizarre original version we came up with as kids. The competition part though? Still the same. #We had this whole epic arc surrounding Mary entering these major motorcycle races and pushing herself beyond... #... her limits every time as she works her way up to become the Motorcycle Queen. First came the county race... #... then came the state race - then the national race - then the world race. Every race had a trophy and cash prize to win... #... along with a pass to enter the next big race. She also got a decorative patch in the shape of her county/state/country... #... to sew onto the upper shoulder of her motorcycle jacket. It was fun and we loved acting it out. Good times.