Roaring Rebels

Roaring Rebels


Royce Clayton lay on his back looking up at the sky in his convertible '53
Chevy. He was in the back seat with his arms under his head and feet dangling
over the door. Parked along an abandoned stretch of highway that had been closed
for years, he was lost in thoughts. Bored with nothing to do, death dragged on
for him. He had been dead longer than he had been alive.

As he lay there, he heard a car creep up along side him. Royce wondered who it
could be since the road was completely blocked off and had been for quite some
time. He wasn't sure how a car could bypass all the barriers.

The car finally came to a stop and the engine was turned off as it sat by
Royce's Chevy. Curiosity hit Royce as to how weird this was as his car couldn't
be seen. Maybe it was just a coincidence that this car happened to park itself
by Royce. He wasn't sure if he should get up or not to see.

"Hey. What'd ya wipe out?" The voice said followed by a high-pitched giggle.

Royce shot up pulling his feet away from the door to see a silver racing car
with the number 130 painted in black on its door and hood. Moving his eyes up to
the driver, his jaw dropped open. Sitting in the driver's seat was a young man
dressed in a white T-shirt and red wind breaker. He was ghostly white and his
neck hung at a bizarre angle as if it had been broken. Royce recognized the man
right away.

"James Dean!" Royce breathed out still in shock.

Jimmy winked at him and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He put two of them in
his mouth and searched for a lighter. Royce saw what he was looking for and
moved back up in his front seat, where he grabbed his lighter and flung it to
Jimmy. Catching it, he lit the two cigarettes up and scooted over in his
passenger seat closer to Royce. He held out a cigarette to Royce who took it,
nodded a thanks and put it between his lips.
Jimmy leaned his arm up on the door inhaling as Royce did the same. Their elbows
were just about touching as they sat there for a few seconds.

"1953 Chevy Convertible. Nice. Fucked up but nice...uh..." James looked to his
un-named friend.

"Royce Clayton." Reaching out his mangled hand, they shook. "Yeah, '53 Chevy fucked up like me."

Jimmy giggled and inhaled. "Let me guess...flipped over and you were dragged with
it?"

Royce nodded exhaling. "Drag race. My foot got caught between the clutch and
brake. No chance for escape there."

Jimmy nodded. "My foot got caught too just like that. A stupid fucker was in my
lane of traffic sitting there as I was coming up on him. Made no attempt to move
and then...smack! Fucked up my Porsche Spyder. Didn't even have it a month."

Royce glanced over at James' neck. "You died in the accident, huh? Broken neck, I
take it?"

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, just finished up making my third big screen film too, Giant."
He giggled his high-pitched laugh. "When I died, a legend was born. You die in
'53, Royce?"

"Yeah. Had a lot in life I needed to accomplish but never got to." He leaned
closer to Jimmy. "When did you die, Jimmy...'55...'56?"

Jimmy exhaled, "September 30 '55. I was on my way to a race in Salinas,
California. Got killed in Cholame on old Highway 466. I still haunt the fucking
stretch."

Royce roared out with laughter thinking about how many years he had haunted the
highways. The ghostly car creaming anything in his way. Jimmy joined in with
laughter remembering a quite a few incidences where he had run some people off
the road just for fun.

"Hey, Jimmy." Royce said leaning closer to the rebel. "You ever kill anyone?"

Jimmy inhaled and nodded. "Makes it all the more fun, huh? You?"

Royce smiled. "I've lost count. Killing isn't the only thing I do." He grinned
curling his upper lip. "Raping is at the top of my list as well, dig?"

Jimmy snickered. "No shit. Gotta get your kicks somehow being dead." He leaned
closer to Royce. "You legal?"

Royce nodded. "Yeah, I'm 18, why?"

Jimmy grinned. "Just wondering. Tell me...you rape male or female? Or both?"

Royce's eyes widened. "Uh...female only. Why do you ask, Jimmy?"

He shrugged. "Just curious, that's all. I mean..." He waved his thought away and
changed the subject not pushing Royce into something he may feel uneasy about.
"Say...your car fast?"

"Yeah, got it up to 130 MPH until...how fast does your hottie go?" Royce was dying
to know how fast this foreign car went.

"Well, the most I ever got it up to was, indeed, 130MPH. I bet I would have won
that race that weekend if I ever made it there. Stupid little bastard in my way
changed all that. But, I never thought I'd ever die. Maybe sustain some injuries
but..." He shook his head and inhaled.

"Tell me about it. I had my race pinned down. We were going for the pinks too. My
arch rival fucked with my brakes."

Jimmy shot Royce a look. "Did'ya kill him?"

Royce nodded and inhaled. "He was first on my list."

They both sat back and laughed. Royce lit up two cigarettes this time and handed
one to Jimmy. The original rebel was impressed at how much Royce Clayton looked
like him. It was an incredible resemblance.

Jimmy looked to Royce. "Wanna get some kicks in?" He asked Royce as the teen
nodded. "Okay...let's race. Maybe go for the pinks or something else...?"

"No sweat, pinks are up, man. Uh...what else could I offer you since you trailed
off?" Royce was curious to what the rebel meant.

Jimmy winked at the teen and left it at that as he started his car. Royce fired
up his hottie trying to get it into gear.

Jimmy laughed. "Can't find it, grind it, man."

Royce laughed and finally got it into first getting ready to race. They revved
up leaving a huge dust trail behind them.

Jimmy leaned over before taking off. "You know, Royce. If the pinks are too much
for ya, I know something else the winner can take. Catch my drift?"

It suddenly occurred to Royce what the rebel was talking about as he winked back
at him.

"Yeah, I hear ya, man." He snickered. "Are you dom or sub?"

Jimmy just laughed. "Guess we'll find out, huh?"

With their engines fired up, they took off down the old highway racing side by
side hitting incredible speeds. It didn't really matter who was to win...it was
who was going to be the dominant and who was going to be the submissive.

END

Now, if any of you know James Dean, you'll understand this story. And, the ones
who don't know, well, yes, he was bi-sexual. (Mmm...slash!)
To go for the pinks means to give the car's title up to the winner. (A little
50's slang there.)