Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Worthless ❯ Speed 8: Futility ( Chapter 8 )

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, this chapter is longer than the others that I have posted. A lot of big things have happened in my life and I've been very busy with events and my birthday. So, please forgive me if things are a little late.

Please enjoy my latest chapter of Worthless!

XxXxXxXx

Worthless

Speed 8: Futility

By: Melissa Norvell

XxXxXxXx

Another week had passed, and I thought about everything that had happened in my life. I went through so many experiences, and I've learned a lot about the good and bad of both my current position and being a car in general.

King seemed better, but it didn't race that weekend. Instead, I went up against Headhunter and Phantom. King and Jordan watched from the sidelines as I easily outran the other two vehicles. It wasn't hard to beat both of them, and I barely broke 200 miles per hour to do it.

I was wonderful and having won that race against King skyrocketed my popularity. All of the other racers loved me and on the track, I was unmatched. They called me the "winged warrior" and when Blake mentioned it, his friends would come over and admire my fender tag that sported the words 'Special Handling Car' on it.

His friends insisted that he take me to the track just to run me around a few times. So far, the most I've done was street race and do a little drifting through the cone mazes. It was great fun, and Blake seemed to enjoy it too.

I was happy to know that I was not letting him down yet…Then again, I kind of felt bad for King. The Barracuda sat there, and hardly spoke to anyone. I knew that it probably felt useless. All of its life, it had to go through a great amount of stress and hardship just to survive. King has a twenty-nine streak win and now, it had been taking the back seat to me.

We continued to train for any upcoming races we'd have. Blake wanted to make me the fastest car that he could, and with all I had found out, there was nothing on the market that could beat me unless it was my predecessor, the Dodge Daytona.

We were archrivals in many ways. We were designed to counter each other on the track. However, I think the only Daytona I'd ever met were those who raced on the tracks.

I haven't been to the track yet, but I looked forward to getting that chance, I couldn't wait to burn up that track. I was taken to drift through some cones with a few other racers. King wasn't present at this event either.

That was odd.

Maybe Jordan had something to do. I knew that he was gone when I woke up and that was around sunrise that morning. Phantom wasn't there either. It was just Headhunter, myself and three other drag cars doing our rounds and playing around. It was pretty fun. No one timed anything and it was pretty causal.

My master seemed very concentrated today. He took the turns well and his handling technique was better than when we had raced. I guess he was having a good day.

Today was also good for me.

Today, I'd finally get to see Nash again.

I needed to apologize for cutting it off when I was street racing. I wondered if Metro would be there too. I knew that it hated street racers, and I did remember its last words to me.

"Don't get caught up with those ruffian street racers."

It was something to that effect.

I spun to a stop after I circled through the cone maze for the last time. My back end swung around and my tires left their mark. I heard everyone cheer as I came to a stop. King was right. This feeling was a great one to have, and a car could get used to this.

After my run, I traveled back to the garage where King was waiting, and I also had a visitor parked outside.

It was Nash.

Blake parked me beside of the green and white SUV along side of the curb as our masters stepped out and started talking to each other for a while. They hugged and questioned various aspects of their lives. I could tell that the bond of a father and son was strong. It was fascinating, really. As something that was not born in a physical sense, I couldn't understand such a bond, but I figured that it must have been something like the way I felt about my master.

Humans have a foreign way of life. They move apart, but they still get to visit with and see each other. In a machine's world, that's drastically different. We cherish the time that we share with our owners because when we transfer hands, we might not ever get to see our old owner again. Chances are that we don't. Cars never know what to expect from our masters, but we are stuck with whatever we get.

King was right. Cars were not like animals. Animals were acknowledged as living things; therefore, it was wrong to commit a crime against them. To kick was dog was wrong, and people who were animal enthusiasts would definitely tell you about it but if that dog were a car, no one would think twice about it. They would simply walk on without a second glance.

Cars can't just drive away if they didn't like their situation. When you looked at it, their situation was the most futile of any objects. They could sit on the side of the road while others pass them by, but without a master, driving around free would cause a lot of talk. It would be too obvious that we too, were alive.

If a car had an abusive owner and sat on the side of the street, only wishing to get away, with freedom so close and nothing to do about it. It would be like putting a caged bird by a window. They could look at what freedom had to offer, but they could never fly free.

That, in itself, was depressing.

There was an awkward silence for a while between Nash and I. I think we were both busy listening to our masters talk before they went into the apartment. After we heard the front door shut, Nash was the first to speak up.

"It's good seeing you again. I must say that I'm not surprised."

I think my motor fell through my frame and hit the ground below me. "I wanted to talk to you about that," I attempted to explain. "I'm really sorry for cutting you off. I didn't even realize that it was you."

"You're only doing what Blake tells you to do," Nash seemed pretty sympathetic about the situation. "I don't hold it against you for being a street racer, either. If any car could excel at racing, it would be you. When I saw that you were a Special Handling Car, I knew that you obviously had more get up and go than a normal sports car. Even when you're just parked somewhere, you just dared someone to ignore your torpedo-like nose cone and rear mounted wing that was higher than even your hood."

"I'm glad that you don't, but I feel horrible. I could have killed you and Mr. Seinsnig," I replied, my voice dropped a couple of octaves.

"Don't worry; I've lived for twenty years. I'm considered a classic car now," Nash commented as it tried to joke off the subject.

"That doesn't mean that I want to be the reason that you end up in a junkyard," I argued. Anyone but Nash. Nash was like a parental figure to me and I cherished it deeply. I didn't know what I'd do if I caused harm to it in any way.

"Things happen. We can't control our fate, and as vehicles, we have even less control. Ultimately, humans decide our fate, and how long we exist on earth." Why did Nash always have to know what it was talking about?

"You're right," I agreed. "As much as I'd like to think that I could have some control over what happened in my life, I knew that it was futile to question such a fact."

"You'll learn to look at it objectively, especially when you get more involved in street racing."

"King seems like a lot of things affect it," I thought of the Barracuda, especially lately, since it had been acting a bit out of the normal.

I didn't know if King was stressed or if it had given up on its racing career. King was more toned down, not as wild acting or upbeat. I knew that it blew a tire and broke its timing belt, but it should have been better by now. We've barely even spoken to each other and the garage is usually full of conversation.

I felt as if I had killed its dreams.

"Have you ever talked to it? It might do you some good to talk to King about its racing experiences both good and bad," Nash advised, and I knew that it was right.

"I tried but it hides things from me," I did try to ask King many things about it's personal experiences, but it never liked to discuss them.

"You need to be more adamant about it. Insist on knowing, tell it that you seek its knowledge as an experienced racer. I think that it would feel more important if you did tell it so." Did King really want me to care like that? Maybe Nash was right. Maybe I should have told the Barracuda what I wanted to say instead of backing down.

"Did you win your race with King?" Nash wondered aloud.

"I did," I replied shamefully. I didn't even have to try to beat the car. I made it seem like it was nothing and I still felt guilty about my easy win.

"You seem sad about that."

"I think I destroyed King's dreams," I knew that I should not have worried, but I couldn't help it. I cared about what the red Barracuda thought.

I wanted to make it proud.

"As much as you care about King, you can't control that. You are the cutting edge of technology, and you do more than prove it," Nash explained. "You're special. There is a reason your model was only made for a year. You're too ahead of your time, you break boundaries and I feel that you'll be the car that makes or breaks Master Blake."

What did it mean? I'll make or break him? How?

My wondering questions were interrupted by a commotion outside. Blake and his father were arguing in the front yard. A worried expression crossed Nash's front end. As they got closer, their words became more audible. I heard my master shout that he didn't care about something. Mr. Seinsnig told him that he was ruining his education as he stalked angrily towards Nash.

"I think I'll be leaving soon," Nash said in an uncertain voice.

"Say hello to Metro for me. I hope it's doing well," I didn't get to finish what I was about to say before Nash's door slammed.

"I will. Take care of yourself, and remember to take my advice." With those final words, Nash pulled away and drove off. I said my good bye and sat there in silence, mulling the words over in my mind.

Later, I was moved into the garage beside of King. The Barracuda didn't hesitate to let me know what happened earlier.

"Man was your master ticked at his old man."

"What for?" I asked, half-hesitant on really wanting to know.

"I only heard part of it, but apparently Blake blew his education money modifying you," the red vehicle explained. "It was money that Mr. Seinsnig gave to him to help pay on his tuition loan. Blake told him that he would eventually need to let him decide for himself on how to spend money. He also told Mr. Seinsnig that he should leave and let him make decisions for himself and that he was too controlling. There was something about taking you away, because his name was on the title too." I cringed at that happening. I had dreaded that moment from day one and my fluids ran cold at the thought of it happening.

Now, the threat seemed more real than ever, especially if Blake really had done that. "They argued about you, education, rules and a lot of other stuff."

"What do you think will happen?" I dared to ask.

"I don't know, but I'd hate to see you sold off. You're an excellent racer. You even beat me, and I'm the King," the red car tried to laugh off its shame. It wasn't fooling me, I knew it was lying.

Now, more than ever, it was time to talk about the things King wouldn't tell me. I had to do this…for Nash…and for me.

"You'll always be the King to me," I reassured it.

"Why? Because I can take a beating and still roll down the street?" It acted as if that was it's only redeeming quality.

"Tell me the truth, King," I pressed, nearly demanding.

"Truth? About what?" The Barracuda acted innocent towards the matter.

"Why do you skirt around your street racing experiences? Tell me what it is I need to know about you. Tell me what those headlights have seen," I felt like I needed to know what pained King so much. The Barracuda was usually fearless and didn't care much about its own well-being when most cars would throw a rod at the thought of the hammer mill. I needed to know, as a friend.

"Maybe it's about time I tell someone about this. I don't really like talking about it, but I'll tell you," I felt honored that King would make that exception.

"I won't mention it to anyone else," with such a trusted secret, I wouldn't dare flap my grill to anyone.

"Do you know what it is to experience futility?"

"Futility?"

"Yes, even a King can feel that his existence is futile." Why would King use that comparison?

"Why would you feel that way? You've won so many races-" I started but was cut off.

"It's not about the races," King's voice was low and serious. It then changed to one of an emotion that you might call fright. "It's the crashes. It's the carnage. It's the death."

I'd never heard King sound that way before. Nothing usually rattled the car's internal workings like that. It looked like King was staring the hammer mill down for the first time. At the moment, I didn't even understand King's horror story until later.

"There was an initiation street race that took place when our original group was formed," King stated what was to be a very long story. "It took place on a rainy night, at about two in the morning. Jordan had heard about the initiation for a month ahead of time, and decided to put me through rigorous testing to make sure I'd be up to par. He wanted to make sure I'd be durable enough to stand up to the conditions of this track.

I was given the best of everything, and I was happy to be able to show my stuff. Jordan rebuilt nearly all of my internal workings especially for that race. I wanted to thank the man who saved me from that scrap heap. I was going to serve Jordan until he sold me or until I could no longer be used.

The rain poured heavily on the race track. It was dangerous but everyone insisted on racing. That course was called the Asphalt Hell by everyone who raced there, and that's when conditions were good. It was a road with a lot of traffic, and a lot of treachery if you went at high speed.

Twenty racers started and only seven of them passed the course. Those seven racers formed the group that Phantom and I are in."

"So, you're an original founder?" I asked. A part of me was amazed at that fact, and another part of me expected such a thing.

"Yes, our group isn't that old. There were so many wrecks. I remember passing by the ones whose lives were lost that day-street racers, cars, civilians…humans…That was the race that I was T-boned in and lost my headlight." King's voice was sad and nostalgic.

So, that's how it got injured. I had wondered about that.

"The conditions were sleek and tire traction was limited. I could barely keep on the road, myself. I almost slid into a ditch. The rain beat so hard that I could hardly see, and my windshield wipers moved so fast that I thought they would just fly off and land in the road somewhere.

Cars were everywhere: upside down, on their sides, in ditches, crashed into each other, walls or even light posts and trees. I witnessed over ten deaths that day. Those cars were totaled. I spent time before the race with those vehicles and they were gone in the flip of a switch.

Since I never considered my own well-being before. I saw the real value of life and for once, I was afraid of my fate. I knew that the car I passed that was nearly cut in half by a light post could easily be me.

I still had a purpose to Jordan. I felt like I should keep myself safe for him. I didn't come out first, but I came out alive. It was one of the darkest races of my life.

Cars that were just used for common purposes couldn't really fathom a street racer's life. We are called muscle cars for a reason. You've got to be tough to compete in this sport. I didn't care that Metro griped me out in the garage that one time. I have caused cars and people to die," the Barracuda's voice was filled with remorse. "It's something that you deal with in this position. There's a lot of guilt, worry and death in this sport. You haven't seen it yet, but you will."

King's words left a dark promise for me and I realized how blind I've been to what street racing really was. I realized that I only saw the glory days of racing and the exciting life that King bragged about. Metro and Nash were right. Nothing comes without consequences. They made street racing look so good, almost like it was fast, fun and carefree. I never saw the pain that King felt and the guilt that it wore with each dent it acquired.

More than anyone, King knew loss and futility. Now, I finally understood why Phantom was the way it was, and why Number 52 felt the way it did about Mr. Seinsnig. That story means a lot to me now, more than it ever did back then, and I think that's why it means a lot to King, too. We can actually identify with it.

Back then, all I could do was feel bad for Number 52 and number Seven. What they went through was tragic.

Now…Now, I knew exactly what they felt. The drive to want to please your master, so much that you would give your very life….The sacrifice and loyalty…It made me think a lot about myself now. I never want to feel the abandonment and shame that Number 52 did.

It just…was not fair to the car, to suffer that fate, even if it was inducted into the Hall of Fame.

I can only imagine what King feels. It felt like a vehicle of murder. Am I doomed to be a killer car? Was Mrs. Seinsnig right about me being a death trap?

"Do you think that Metro will hate me?" I thought about the Metropolitan and it's malice towards King. Those very feelings worried beyond words. Metro's opinion mattered to me more than ever.

"It might not, since you're like family to it. That's a hard call to make. I don't really make friends with common cars."

"Why?"

"There was a commoner's car that I really liked. I considered it to be a friend. When my master worked at the arcade, we parked beside of each other in the lot. It was a 1959 Ford Zodiac. We shared a lot of good times.

One day, I was doing a street race with Headhunter. We turned around a corner and the Zodiac was there-"

"Did you hit it?" That seemed to be a logical direction that the story was headed in.

"Headhunter's rear end nearly did when it swung around…but the damage I made was far worse," there was a silence before King finished what it was saying. "I shot around the corner, unaware of what was there and it swerved to miss me and went off of the road and straight into a wall. The Zodiac was destroyed on contact and it was sent to the junkyard. I later heard that it was crushed by the hammer mill."

"How do you know that?" I to be optimistic and say that the Zodiac might have ended up being alright.

"The new car that the worker bought in the Zodiac's place told me what happened. After that, I decided that I wasn't going to make friends with anything that I might kill. I didn't want to do that to anything else," the car's words were filled with its passion towards the subject, and I couldn't help but to be moved by its speech.

King…

"It's not like you could have avoided it," I tried to reason, but it was silent.

"Could we talk about a different subject?" King finally inquired after what seemed like a good ten minutes of silence.

"First, I'll say that isn't your fault. I know that you feel guilty but Nash is right when it said that cars just do what their owners instruct them to do," I tried to offer words of comfort to the shattered vehicle. It was painful to hear the things that it kept hidden from me, but this was for the best. King needed to let out its pain and I would be here for it until the end.

"That's why nothing knows futility more than a vehicle. Number 52's story touched me ever since I had heard it. Even if Metro was right. Even if I'm just a beat up old sports car that won't even amount to anything and can never compare to a glorified racer like Fifty-two, it's story was very inspirational and I know how it felt on many different levels. I've been abandon. I've been beaten up and defeated. I've killed and caused injury, both to myself and others for the name for a sport that is only recognized by a few people and regarded as illegal and dangerous. Even if my treds tainted the very spot that 52 sat in, I was happy to be in that spot."

"I wish I would have gotten to meet it, if only for a minute." After I thought about it for a while, I could have learned so much for that old formula car.

"If Blake takes you down to the track, Number 52 does the occasional run. You might get to talk to it for that one minute," King informed me. "If you ever meet it, tell it that it has a lifetime of respect from me. It was my hero since I heard about it from Nash."

"I definitely will," I smiled. "Hopefully, we can go together down there and take a couple of laps around the track."

"That would be nice."

It certainly would.

It's funny how irony works. I knew that Blake had wanted to take me to the track, but I didn't think that he'd go through with it or even take me this early. It had only been two weeks since King and I talked about meeting Number 52 in person.

I wished that King could have come down with me, but Jordan had other plans. He said that he wanted to make King more of a competitor for me. That meant that we'd race again together. I hoped that it would be happier about its next race. Out of all of the street racers there, King was the only one who came close to keeping up with me.

I'd like to race with him again…I would want it to be a gripping, on-edge race where both of us were pushed to the limit. I didn't want to feel like I didn't even have to try to beat another racer.

I wondered if King felt that way being the undisputed champion before our race?

This race track was pretty fun to drive on. It definitely beat the city streets. Here, I could really tear up my tires on the track. Quite a few cars that were certified were running around the track today. I even saw a couple of other Superbirds.

It would be interesting to go bumper to bumper with another winged warrior, whether it was another Superbird or a Dodge Daytona.

There were about seven of us in total. The weather was good for racing, nice and sunny with partially cloudy skies. The sun shone down on the elongated loop of a raceway, and there were even a few people who watched us just going around and around the track.

I zoomed past a few cars, switching in and out of the lanes before I saw a sight that I never thought I'd lay my headlights on. It was so shocking that I nearly idled in my tracks.

Right in front of me was an older race car, blue and black in coloration. The model looked to be a 1925 Bugatti Type A. I drove up beside of it, and I could clearly see the number 52 as clear as day in bold white on the car's side door.

It was the very car that I had wanted to meet since I had first heard the story at the Seinsnig's garage. It was the Number Fifty-two! I was star struck! I could hardly believe that I was riding side-by-side with such a car!

There was so much that I wanted to say, but right now, I couldn't push them out of my bumper without making myself look ridiculous. Oh, how I wish that King and Nash were here to experience what I was right now! I was sure that they'd both blow a head gasket to even look at this car right now.

"I know you…" I nearly stuttered the phrase in awe.

"What?" I heard Fifty-two ask, thoroughly confused. It didn't sound like I had pictured. Its voice was youthful and it seemed a little meek. Maybe it was just the confusion. "I've never seen you. I don't even know who you are, or who you belong to."

"You might not know me, but I know you," I informed the vintage car of my relevance. "Do you know the Seinsnigs?"

"What?" Number 52's voice was filled with many different emotions- love, shock, sorrow…guilt beyond definition, and nostalgia of some kind. I wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad type of nostalgia.

The two of us slowed down and pulled off of the track. I had been unaware of the fact of why we had been traveling side-by-side in the first place. While we had been talking, our masters were talking as well. Blake had my window cracked down, and 52's driver was out in the open air.

We stopped near the pit and parked side-by-side. The two drivers stepped out and walked over to the sidelines to chat with each other. They seemed to know each other and were happy to see one another. It turned out that 52's driver was a friend of the family. The two had known each other since Blake was small.

Fifty-two gazed at Blake with a strange expression. It was as if the race car didn't recognize Blake. That was actually really sad, considering the fact that this was the car that Blake grew up with, and tried so hard to keep in the family.

"Your master…" The blue car trailed. "What is his name?" I guessed that Fifty-two wanted a confirmation just to believe itself.

"Blake Seinsnig."

"Oh Blake…You've grown into such a handsome man." It really hadn't recognized him. Fifty-two just instantly fell to pieces on that very spot. It was the human equivalent to a mental break down. "I didn't even recognize you. You're the only one who's ever cared to have me around. You wanted to keep me, and you always looked at me with such sympathy. When I felt my worst and wanted to just end my life of worthlessness, you saw use in me. I'm shocked that you're driving around on this track after what happened to Gary."

"Blake never lost his racing spirit. His parents were strict but he doesn't live with them anymore, so he feels a lot more freedom," I replied. "Probably a little too much. He's really been fighting with his parents a lot lately. "There had been many times when he yelled at them over the phone. I didn't know if that was what King always saw, but it seemed like Blake had changed.

Then again, I guess I have too.

"Anything that goes against my former master's wishes sets him off. He was a very touchy person. I guess that I could see why he got rid of me. I just wasn't good enough for him. Nash was right back then," Fifty-two sighed. "Nothing lasts forever."

Ironic that Nash gave the formula car the same advice that it gave me.

I wished that I could give Number 52 some sort of reason to find its self worth. I decided to throw out the only thing I knew how to at the moment. "But, you're so famous-"

I was cut off immediately. I was sure that it had heard this many times.

"Fortune, fame and trophies do not get you happiness. Happiness isn't an object, it's an emotion." It seemed like I've heard that saying before from a certain Barracuda.

"You remind me of a friend of mine," I mentioned.

"We want to wish that things could last forever, but bliss and ignorance are confused a lot."

Boy, did I feel the inward stab from that one. Now that I didn't live with Nash and Metro, I wished that I hadn't ignored the advice that I was given. I mentioned that Nash was usually right about its advice and that I had heard a lot about Fifty-two.

Fifty-two seemed very pleased to know that Nash was still alive. I had nearly forgotten that 52 had seen Nash before it had been restored. Fifty-two smiled slightly. Even thought I knew that the racer truly was happy for that, misery bled through its shiny paint job and I could tell that it was very depressed and had been for a long time.

I heard 52 ask me if I was a race car. I informed it that I really only performed in street races, but I could race on the track.

"A Superbird, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"You make me feel like a fossil. I actually know quite a bit about you winged warriors, and how your type could wear the pavement right off of this track, literally."

"That was back when I was created," I informed.

"Cars now can't even match you," Fifty-two argued my point. "This track wouldn't even be enough for you. You seem like a good car for Blake. I'm glad that he can live his dream. I remember Number Seven and I watching him play with toy race cars when he was young. "Even though that should have been a happy memory, the old car still frowned.

Such things seemed painful.

"Number Seven was around then?"

"Yes, Number Seven was a memento from a friend of my former master's who retired and gave him Number Seven. He passed the car on to Gary, later. We used to race side-by-side on the track. I missed those days." Was it me, or was 52 really bent on living in the past? I knew that those were happy times for it and probably the prime of its life, but it was wrong for the race car to keep itself locked in a cage like that.

"You seem to think about them a lot," I hinted my point.

"I do," Fifty-two agreed," I retired too early. I wanted to feel the wind whip around me, and hear the roar of the engines. I wanted to feel my tires burn out once more, but…I'll never get that feeling back," the car frowned. "I'm doomed to depression. The past is the only thing that makes me happy."

"Isn't that delusion yourself? It just hurts you," I didn't know how good reasoning would do, but I wanted to try and convince the racer that its current train of thoughts were very self-destructive.

"Delusioning myself would be thinking of only the good times without acknowledging the bad. All of these years, confined under that tarp…I felt so helpless. I just wanted to die." It was clear that I wasn't getting through to it. "Fortune, fame and trophies don't get you happiness."

"I really do wish you could be happy." As much as I felt helpless, I did want to help the poor car. I wished that King or Nash was here. They were always good at giving advice and Number 52 seemed to listen to Nash.

"I'll be happy when I'm dead, not a museum piece in a hall of fame. I knew that I would end up here, but somehow…I thought it would be under better circumstances," Fifty-two's disappointment at the lack of fulfilling its goal in life was overbearing. I could feel the weight of its burdens and I could help but still think that it was a very damaging, self-inflicted wound.

"Is it because you were abandon?" I had the feeling that it's betrayal and utter shun by its master had a lot to do with the fact that it felt so horrible.

"I don't think you'd feel any different in my position. It wouldn't hurt so much if my ex-master would come and visit me just once. It's peaceful here, and everyone is so good to me, but the person I was created for is living life unaffected by my state of being. He could care less whether or not I existed…He hates me after I served him so faithfully….I just…don't know what I did wrong," Fifty-two was very emotional and sounded as if it were crying. I'm sure it would be if it were human.

I glanced to the ground for a moment, then back to the crestfallen race car. "It's not your fault," I tried to comfort Fifty-two by giving an honest opinion. The blue car accomplished so many things in its life- more so than King and I combined. It wasn't Fifty-two's fault that Mr. Seinsnig disowned it, but it was painful to see it remorse over its master. Fifty-two had such an attachment to Mr. Seinsnig.

Then again, that was really all it knew.

It was kind of like me. I had to ask myself how I'd feel if Blake ever felt that way about me. I don't know what I'd do.

"It's not your fault," I repeated myself but Blake was on his way over, and my attention was redirected at him. I thought he was going to walk over to me, but he simply drifted past like a leaf in the wind. Fifty-two seemed a little shocked when he walked over and stopped at the vintage car.

When the blonde got to the old race car, he smiled, "old Fifty-two, you still look as good as you do when I was little."

Nostalgia filled Blake's mind as he thought of the memories he had with both cars, Number 52 and Number Seven. He hugged the race car, who wore a look of flattery and disbelief. Blue eyes fluttered shut as my master rested his head behind the car's orange headlight. "I remember when I used to hug you before a race for good luck. When I was little, you were my hero and my inspiration for racing. Because you of, I wanted to drive a race car. I used to think you were the coolest car ever."

I'm sure if cars could blush, Number 52 would have. The old race car looked as if it were going to cry. I could tell that it was overwhelmed with emotion. It finally saw for itself that even though Mr. Seinsnig had abandon it, that my master wasn't going to do such a thing.

Blake stood up and smiled lovingly at Number Fifty-two. "Riding around in you was real fun. I wished dad would have kept you."

A hand was sat on his shoulder as Fifty-two's driver stood slightly behind him. "You can come and visit Number 52 any time you want. I take it around the track about twice a month or so unless we have a car show."

"Really?" Blake's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'll definitely come by more often. I'd love to see Number 52 again. I kind of miss it." The boy shot the retired racer a smile.

Fifty-two was moved beyond words that someone had actually wanted to waste their time on it. Not just any racing fan or passerby, but a child who used to idolize the racer. The boy showed 52 the love that it's master could not and did not.

I smiled. See, Number Fifty-two? You're not alone. Someone does care about you, and I hope that eases the pain that's been bearing on your axles for all of these years.

Your spirit isn't supposed to die in a junkyard yet. You were meant to live on and carry out your fame as an idolized legend. I was just glad that Number 52 could find a sense of happiness in its pit of despair.

…To Be Continued