Metal Roadrunner Yard Art Novels & Stories

Her thoughts danced as she took in the beauty of the day, but her gaze kept drifting back to the wire sculptures she’d placed around the yard, twinkling in the morning sun. They weren’t much, just little creatures she had twisted out of old fence wire and bits of scrap metal she’d found. They were birds and dragonflies, tiny replicas of the animals that filled the mountains. She had spent hours forming their delicate wings, their small bodies, every twist of wire crafted with a careful hand and a creative heart. The hum of a distant engine pulled her from her thoughts. It was unusual to hear a car coming up the mountain road this time of day. She shielded her eyes, squinting as the vehicle a

Sarah read. “Yes. There we can ride in the Car of Tomorrow— a brand new vehicle they call the Mustang—upon the Road of Tomorrow." Tracing the path of the half mile spiraling road of reinforced concrete paved with non-skid Monocork, she elaborated. "It passes through part of the pavilion, circling the exterior garden. It's the highest view of the fairgrounds from any pavilion here. Inside, they have a wonderful exhibit with graphics that show how things we take from the soil are made through industry into the things we use in our lives.” “It sounds as though you’ve already seen it.” Sarah sounded disappointed.

A deep scowl on his face. “ How much longer till we get there Ratchet? My ass hurts.” Tank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not much longer” Ratchet responded a rather bit too quickly. Which caught Dodger’s attention. Soon a plain gray concrete building came into view. There wasn’t any distinct markings to set the building apart from any other. He turned the van down an old service drive that had been neglected for years. He pulled up to a metal gate and punched a code into a key pad. With a clank and screeching squeal from the wheels, the old gate topped with razor wire opened slowly. It made a loud clunk when it was fully opened. He pulled the van into the fenced in yard. The old chain

I picked up a few small bobble head turtles for the girls at work. Outside the stalls an artist sat on the street corner in paint splattered shorts and t-shirt painting ocean landscapes. They were simple in nature, but Trey was taken by them. The clipped pace he'd been leading down the main road slowed until we passed the area with small canvases lining the street. At the last piece, Trey turned and started back toward the artist with me on his heels.

The front door creaked like it always did, a long arthritic groan that said welcome back to the museum of bad ideas. I stepped into the weather-worn beach shack, the air cool with sea salt and stale smoke. Odd metallic sculptures crowded the narrow entry—bronze torsos, iron birds, twisted wire nests that caught the light like spiderwebs. To anyone else, it looked like a surrealist exhibit. This is my house. Don’t be alarmed by the Picasso rejects. Personally, I think they lean more toward Salvador Dalí. Therapy, they called it. Pick a hobby, they said. Get creative, they said. So… metallurgy. Yeah, go figure.

I returned to stare out the window at the ponderosa pines that littered the landscape. It was beautiful scenery and full of space for a werewolf to frolic. We turned off onto a long gravel drive and I side-eyed my mom feeling that the plywood shack would be making its appearance shortly. Boy, had I been mistaken… The first thing that caught my eye was the rod iron sign over the road that read Blue Moon. As we continued up the road two large pack houses were on either side of the asphalt road and a roundabout had a large marble fountain in the middle of it.

in bed. An hour later the city gave way to dusty two-lane roads lined with scrub brush. A hand-painted sign on the side of the highway caught my eye: RIVERBEND BIKE RALLY – 2 MILES. Music thumped in the distance, deep bass and the roar of engines. I almost kept driving. But something in my chest flipped,a reckless little spark I hadn’t felt in years. I turned.

They could yell and scream and get out any aggression that they might even realize they were carrying. I pulled slowly into the dirt lot. Junk cars and really anything that contained metal was scattered all over the place in piles differentiating the types of metal they were made from originally.. This place would pay you for scrap metal by the pound and some people were able to make a living doing that. Cars were lined up at the scale with trailers full of other people's junk. The junkyard had big machines with claws that would empty the trailers or truck beds and then th vehicle would be weighed again on the way out. The driver would be paid in cash and go out for another load.

Maddox looked at me before he turned into it, with a smile. Sliver metal fences were busted up and looked rough, but it was mine. Rows of old, dusty cars were waiting for me to restore them or sell it for parts. There wasn’t any answering Maddox. I was too excited about this. “Welcome to your happy place.” Hayden patted my arm.