𝐆𝐎-𝐆𝐎 | 𝐬.𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬

𝟎𝟎𝟓. 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚

Chapter 5

Cleopatra

The sultry summer night air of 1965 draped the city streets in a beguiling cloak of anticipation. The scent that travelled was thick with the tang of sweet gasoline, mingling with the suffocating humidity of the asphalt that had basked in the day's scorching sun. Underneath the lace of the silver moonlight, the tarmac seemed to shimmer with an electrical current.

On the left side of the road, Mitsy Rhode stood like a modern-day Cleopatra, her boots worn with the molten stamp of a daredevil. Her hair flowed wildly in the wind like an untamed spirit.

Beside her stood her infamous Mustang Shelby Cobra GT350, the weapon that had led her to consistent victories, and her title. Its polished metallic surface seemed to reflect the aspirations of every racing enthusiast who witnessed it on the sidelines.

Among the large mass of witnesses was Sodapop Curtis. He watched the two contenders with a dazed look in his eye, mouth agape at the scene.

On the right stood a proud Tim Shepard, his aura radiated confidence like a soul meant to intimidate, to shake her focus. Contrasting the backdrop of the midnight sky was his custom-built 1963 Plymouth Valiant. The steel-silver paint sparkled as if it were the stars missing from the sky.

The gathered crowd hushed to a mesmerised silence, their breaths held in a collective excitement that seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath them.

At the heart of the throng stood Lydia Lane, a striking figure with her cold black hair cascading like molten rock over her shoulders. Her piercing amber eyes spoke of a story untold, and her presence alone lent a sense of mystique to the event.

Holding the chequered flag like a sacred totem, Lydia Lane embodied the revered empress of the underground racing world. She took her position, standing tall like a guardian of fate, her eyes scanning the contenders with certainty.

"On your marks!" Her voice held the authority of a fallen angel, fueled by rebellion.

A flicker passed between the Soc and the Greaser as they exchanged ambitious glances. It was an unspoken acknowledgement of the other. Each driver knew that the outcome of this race could change the trajectory of their reputation, something both held in high regard.

With a flourish, Lydia Lane raised the chequered flag high in the air, an enchanting siren of speed and adrenaline. The suspense reached a crescendo as the flag descended with a fluttering grace, the crisp sound of its fall signalling the moment of truth.

"Go!"

The earth seemed to quake under the force of their engines roaring to life, their primal bellow echoing through the city streets like a lion's mighty roar. The spectators watched in awe as the two beasts of metal surged forward, their headlights piercing the darkness like celestial beacons guiding their path.

Tires sang in a harmonious symphony of friction, their rubber meeting the road with a passionate dance of grip and release. The night seemed to awaken, an audience of lampposts, buildings, and stars bearing witness to the spectacle that unfolded.

Mitsy held her lead as Tim's headlights grew further and further away in her rearview mirrors. She felt the familiar jolt of thrill in her stomach, when she raced, it felt like her senses hyper-focused. The world slowed at the will of her mind, fate sealed to her success. Her eyes sharpened like hawks, and the sounds that rang in her ears fell silent.