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Ash

The sound of engines echoes in the air. Colorful cars are all around me, with their drivers next to them.

The purring sound of the engines has me feeling right at home.

Ever since I was a teenager, driving has been my safe haven.

It was the one thing in the world that brought me peace, no matter what.

Trust me when I say that when you bounce from one foster family to another, you need anything that can spark joy.

Because nothing sparks joy in those group homes.

It’s like joy is this forbidden emotion that you forget when you cross the door.

The one remaining fragment separating you from the rest of the world.

I was sixteen when I stole my foster dad’s old Corolla and drove it all the way into a dumpster.

He wasn’t happy about his car becoming one with that dumpster, but he didn’t kick me out of the house, which was good.

Then, a month later, my foster brother Aaron and I decided to up the level a bit.

We chose for our level up in crime our chemistry teacher’s car.

A guy in his thirties who clearly decided to become a teacher to piss off his rich father, who wanted him to run the family company instead.

In my opinion, if you are going to screw your family over and show them the middle finger, it would be wiser to do it without using their money to buy a new car.

Lucky for me, he didn’t share this idea.

Daddy’s money funded his midlife crisis only for me to steal it.

It took five tries before I could actually jump-start the car, and when I did, the purring sound of the engine inviting me to trouble was the best feeling in the world.

This time I didn’t crash; instead, I drove like a maniac for an hour until the police caught up with me.

I managed to distract them until Aaron could run, and an hour later, I found myself in cuffs, waiting for an adult to pick me up.

To my surprise, the person who showed up was the owner of the car himself.

I was prepared for the worst when I saw him.

Instead, he declared that he wouldn’t press charges and managed to convince the officer in charge to give me another chance.

And the officer did. I got to walk out of that police station with a warning to keep my nose clean and in the books from that point forward.

I didn’t. To my defense, I was fully planning to do so, but things didn’t go as planned when I returned home.

Aaron was already a mess when I arrived; our foster father had discovered what we had done.

He took it out on Aaron with his belt and his fists until the poor kid was almost a pulp on the floor, barely breathing.

I wasn’t such an easy target though. I punched back when he hit me with his fist, then punched him again, and again.

By the time I was done with him, he was the one barely breathing.

I helped my brother off the floor and out of the house, into the old Corolla.

The same old Corolla I had stolen and crashed into a dumpster a month earlier.

We started driving, leaving the group home of horrors behind us, and we never stopped.

Moving from town to town until we settled here a few months ago.

Stealing cars became the one thing that could sustain us.

So much for keeping my nose clean, I guess.

That Corolla was the first car I stole, and even though I prefer faster cars, it still remains parked in our garage.

It took a few years before we had a plan that made the way we were stealing cars almost legal.

It was the perfect plan: participate in a street race, win the race, keep the car, and, a month later, sell it.

Everything is by the book. The owner signs the car over to me, and then I sign it over to the highest bidder.

The illegal street racing scene is quite fascinating, to be honest. My mind returns to the present as my eyes wander in the huge space filled with cars.

Some people cruise the scene, taking in the beautifully modified cars.

A black car with flames decorating it, a metallic teal car with a cartoon character, and a matte black car with what seems like a drawing of Hell’s Gate on the hood.

That one caught my eye when I arrived. I have been standing next to my equally fast bike, ignoring everyone and browsing the cars like it’s my next shopping spree.

And it could be, if you count car theft as shopping, that is. “So, what do you think?”

Aaron leans to my ear level and whispers; he knows the plan well.

Challenge one of those rich boys to a race.

The person who wins gets the car, and the loser walks home.

The only thing that could be considered against the rules, really, is that we don’t bring a car of our own, but even rebellious rich boys accept payment in exchange for borrowing their car for a race.

We need two cars: one that we'll leave with at the end of the night and one that can beat it in a race. Don’t get me wrong; we could use one of our own.

But I like tradition, and when everything started, we couldn’t afford a car good enough to win a race.

Or a place to stay, to be honest. We lived in that old Corolla for a year before we could rent a small apartment.

We have come a long way since then. Now we are living in a house we own, with a garage full of cars we barely drive.

I'm sure you're thinking, 'Why not take the car that will be the winner?' and I would normally agree, but all of those cars are basically in the same condition. All of them are capable of winning a race. What changes is the driver. Those guys drive carefully, fast but with the intent to get out of the car alive at the end of the race. They don’t take risks, not real ones at least. They value their lives and care if they return home at the end of the night. Most of them have people to come home to, parents, girlfriends... Some of them even have kids. I don’t share that dream reality. When I go home, there is nothing waiting for me but my brother and an old pit bull with one ear bitten off and a scar on its left eye. I rescued him three years ago from an illegal dog fight in one of the towns where we stayed for a while, and he has never left our side since. I love my dog, but he is hardly what I would call a reason to live, and when you have nothing to live for, driving like a madman to win a car seems more than fine. Especially when that car will get us a good chunk of money when we sell it. I turn to Aaron, my best friend and accomplice. I wink at him, and with a motion of my head, I point to the silver car at the end of the row with the purple flames decorating it. It’s a year-old model, and the engine has clearly been modified, as if it weren’t already fast. The perfect target for tonight.

“That one?” A hint of surprise is evident in his voice as he inspects the car from a distance.

“It’s a little flashy, don’t you think?” Aaron argues, but technically the guy can’t report the car stolen, and the winner can do anything they want with it.

Including selling it a month later. We technically break no rules of this race, and the paperwork for the car being transferred to my name will be done in the morning.

If you think about it, we don’t break any laws either.

There is no risk in drawing attention to us, since we are doing everything in a way that we can’t get caught.

The perfect crime. “Yes. It will be easy to sell.” I point to the guy next to the driver of the silver monstrosity of a car.

The jealous friend, who has been eyeing the car like it’s candy, drooling all over it, not being subtle at all.

We just need to wait a month; then we can approach him, and he’s probably going to offer us more than it’s worth.

Being petty and rich pays off... for us. “Now I get it.”

Aaron says, and without a word more, he goes to find the car we need to use for the race.

A moment later, he returns with a pair of keys in his hand.

“It’s the black one with the green demon on it.

” I chuckle. “Of course it is.” It’s not always that we match cars to my hair, but when he can find one, he does like to subtly point out the fact that having lime-green hair is ridiculous.

In his opinion, of course, because I happen to love my hair.

I start walking toward the dickhead with the silver car; a smirk forms on my lips as his girlfriend looks at me a second too long as I approach.

If I am lucky, I might leave with more than his car tonight.

“Hello, love, do you mind if I have a little talk with your boy toy?” I say with a low chuckle.

“What do you even want, dude? I saw your ride, and even though I will admit it’s a damn good bike, it does not qualify for racing here tonight. ” Asshole.

My baby would beat your car faster than any car here.

I take a breath before I say something stupid and point to the black and green car that is now parked next to my bike.

“You are right, but my buddy is fine with me borrowing his car. So, unless you are afraid of a little friendly competition...” He smirks, accepting the challenge.

“I can beat you in my sleep.” Of course, you can, buddy.

Without more words, I just turn my back and walk to the car.

I open the door and slide in, feeling the leather of the seat.

Damn, that’s a nice car. One thing I love about what I do for a living is that I get to drive those beauties for a night.

Even though I love my motorcycle, it doesn’t hurt to cheat on her with a beauty like this.

The only type of cheating I am fine with, to be honest. I drive to the starting line and press the gas pedal, hearing the rumbling sound of the engine before the jerk with the silver car pulls up next to me.

Right on time. A beautiful woman with pink hair approaches his car, and I was wrong the blonde was not his girlfriend.

Pinkie leans next to his window and pulls him in for a passionate kiss, or at least one that this guy seems to enjoy.

Then she walks slowly, each step carefully calculated as her heels press against the pavement.

She stands between the two cars with a red bandana in her hand, a megaphone, and a gun.

“Hello, everyone!” She calls through the megaphone.

“You know the rules, looser walks home, and the winner gets it all.” She announces.

The crowd is cheering in anticipation. She walks slowly to my car and leans over my window.

“Good luck handsome.” She blows me a kiss as she walks away, taking her previous spot in the middle of the two cars.

She raises her gun in the air and yells through the megaphone.

“Are you ready?” The crowd gets louder as both I and my opponent rev our engines.

“I didn’t hear you.” She looks around the crowd and then repeats with every word emphasized.

“I. SAID.ARE. YOU. READY?” The crowd loves her, cheering for her more than they do for us.

She is amazing. “Let’s fucking ride!” She announces, with a gunshot following. See you at the finish line, Pinkie.