This is a short story that Stephen wrote for one of his English Classes.

He’s Often Flying

Mitch Weldon floored the gas pedal and the formula 1 car ripped forward with a lurch, as if it were spurning the asphalt under the wheels. The car seemed to be trying to fly off the track and it would have to if the air flow over the wings on the side didn’t create downforce, forcing the car down on the pavement. He stared intently at the track in front of him constantly guessing and second guessing the distance of the track before him. His car came up on the tail of #58. The spoiler grew larger and larger until Mitch thought the nose of his #46 almost had to be tucked snuggly under the rear axle of #58. At the last moment he jerked his dial and button covered wheel right taking the outside curve. Mitch knew that the outside curve meant he would have to drive longer, but he also knew that his #46 was eating the track far quicker than #58 whose driver was having trouble seeing under the parabolic reflectors used during the nighttime portion of the Coca-Cola 600 to reduce the glare.
“See you later Dan,” Weldon muttered to himself through his helmet as he whizzed past the bright blue car.
As Mitch saw the track open into the straight stretch ahead of him he opened the throttle as far as he could and listen to the engine behind him roar like an angry lion. #46 lurched forward once again. #46 flew by a group of spectators to them it sounded like an enormous mosquito buzzing louder than any rock band.
At 176mph Mitch buzzed past #36.
“Fourth,” Mitch muttered. His heart started pounding; his day had begun that morning at 11 o’clock at the Indianapolis 500. He had won the Indy 500 and if he could only pull off another win this evening he would not only receive the honor of being the only driver to win both, but he would also win the $20,000,000 prize Bruton Smith, owner of Speedway Motorsports, Inc, was offering to the first person who could pull off such a feat.
He past #12.
“Third”
His wheels burned on the asphalt. The smell of petrol fuel and burning rubber filling the air around him. He zoomed past #98.
“Second”
He rounded the final turn drawing up next to car 7. The cars came out onto the straight stretch neck and neck, but car seven was fighting. Suddenly the unthinkable happened. The cars wheels brushed together and #46 sailed off the track.
As his shiny green, fiberglass car literally flew over the finish line. Mitch shouted in ecstasy, “I win! If I live long enough.”

A little morbid perhaps, but funny all the same.