What’s better after a night barhopping than an impromptu car race on the rain-slick city streets? Why, doing so before seat-belt laws! -- Deathshead419
There was a time which had much more freedom, compared to the modern day. Less freedom when compared to certain other times. Like, say, the paleolithic era. But those had their own caveats. Rampant disease, early death, that sort of thing. But in this era, the age of rock and roll, or the sock hop, there was a freedom that few had ever known. Wealth and prosperity. Opportunity in abundance.
Late night bars on the corners, and cars with the tops left down that were ludicrously easy for the misspending youth to steal.
The cars were faster than they'd ever been. Louder and frightening on the turns. Perfect for making your girl cling to you in squealing terror. And racing another guy in a different stolen car? Nothing better. Heck, even the cops were asleep at this time of night. You could skid and rev, and see how fast the latest tonnage of pure steel beast could go.
And you could turn a corner wrong... and have it all go black.
Bobby stared in confusion at the hot pink tailfins as they went up in smoke. Julia had rolled into a gutter to put her petticoats out and looked like a mess. Bruised, but alive. He watched her pick herself up and heard her scream.
She was screaming his name.
Muschnik's flower shop was on fire, too. Bobby could see the old man helping his lady down the rickety metal fire escape. Him in a T-shirt and shorts. Her in a nightdress and hair rollers. They looked hilarious. Bobby wanted to laugh and point them out to Julia, but she kept screaming his name.
"I'm right here," he said, but his voice sounded weird. Flat, somehow.
Mrs Muschnik was screaming, too. "Oh my gawd! Oh sweet Jeee-zus, there's a boy in there, Howard! There's a boy in there."
"Look away, Sadie. Look away. You look away, too, miss. We can't help him. Look away." Mr Muschnik herded his wife over to Julia and helped her up. He pressed the womens' heads against his chest. Repeating, "Don't look. Don't look."
Of course Bobby had to. Who else was in there? Who was the boy?
That was... someone in his car. Well. The car he stole for some fun and a race against Derrin Baskolio and his girl. Who and how did that jerk manage to--
The fire illuminated his letterjacket. Shone off the bracelet that mom made him wear.
That.
Was.
Him.
"Done having fun?" said a voice beside him. The stranger was all in black, looking something like a severe businessman... but there was also something about him that said he was a cop.
"I'm not supposed to be dead," said Bobby. "I have homework."
"Actions have consequences, Mr Samson. Inebriated driving in an unfamiliar vehicle on wet roads, at speed... you were lucky you didn't take others with you."
"Pops is gonna be pissed," said Bobby. "I'll be grounded for a million years."
The stranger gave him a level look. "Grounded, I suppose, applies. Six feet under the ground is traditional." The fire truck sped through the both of them. The stranger and Bobby.
"What?" he said. "What happened?"
"You are no longer corporeal, Mr Samson. Your body can no longer contain your soul. You are of the dear departed. You are about to join the choir invisible. You are the late Robert Samson."
"Mom's gonna be so disappointed in me," said Bobby, still catching up. "If I'm dead... why am I still here? Where's the big staircase or the doors or whatever it is?"
"You have a choice. All those who end unexpectedly do. You can move on to the next plane... or try another chance. Have another turn at life."
"No haunting anywhere? Rattling chains and scaring people."
"Your exit is not sufficiently legendary. Your options are: leave, stay and fade to nothing, or get reborn."
He wanted to tell Julie it was going to be okay. He wanted to apologise to Mom and Pops. He wanted to work off the damage to Muschnik's like a good boy should. "I'll get a chance to make things better if I live, right?"
"Correct," said the stranger. "It won't be easy, but you will have the chance."
Bobby made up his mind. "Then I'll stay and live. And try to make it better."
"Come," the stranger took his hand, lead him around to where some neighbours were consoling the Muschniks and Julie. He gestured towards Julie in a sort of, "Go ahead, step inside," movement and said, "Meet your next mother."
[Photo by Robby McCullough on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
Send me a prompt [27 remaining prompts!]