Riders of Plenty

In a remote valley, the riders resided.

They dominated the small village tucked within the firm valley walls. They: the Riders of Plenty; a peddle bike gang of miscreants. Led by a merciless teen, the 23-and-under bike gang cruised the midnight streets, patrolling up in to the early morning hours. At dawn's first light, they'd bike to their homes, and tuck away until the following dusk.

The leader, a scrawny lad named Jed, would charge up the hill overlooking his home, each ride homeward bound – he'd look over that hill, surveying his small kingdom. Jed was 17, a wiry little shit; no store owner dared shoo him from their storefront. He was, in all truth, a very unremarkable-looking lad, thinness aside. His neutral face held no distinct characteristics, other than being oddly plain. He had brown, curly hair, and equally dark eyes.

The second-in-command was Joe, a tall lad of 13. Regardless of being almost one of the youngest, Joe held a lot of promise as an understudy to leadership. Joe held no pretensions about his ride home. He'd sneak back in to the window above his dresser, shoes in hand. His parents didn't understand the call of the crisp night, nor the capers the Riders got themselves in to.

It was mid-summer, a hot and unforgiving time. The Riders prided themselves on being smart enough to skip the heated daytime. When school came back in, the Riders would disband, until a break came up; all members would go back to their usual friends, all members would act like they didn't mesh together. It wasn't like the whole school – nay, the town – didn't know that they ran together in a "sissy high school gang".

Daytime finally came, and with it, parents requesting chores be done. One by one, the kids escaped, meeting up at the old oak tree.

"Listen up, chums," Jed said. "We need to prove ourselves. I have a plan; anyone interested?"

Joe motioned for everyone to dismount from their steeds. The sparse crowd nodded. "Whaddya got in mind, J.?" Joe asked, starting a rash of muttering from the crowd.

"We're gunna burn down the school."

No one raised an eyebrow. "We're all gunna get out of this cowpoke, dipshit town, and go to school in Royston." The next town over, one with 2 high schools – a veritable wealth of options. "Any objections?" There weren't any.

"What do we need, J.?" Charles, a 23-year old simpleton asked.

"I'm glad you asked, Charlie – you'll be in charge of siphoning gas from cars. You remember how, right?"

After revealing their stations, and goals, Jed rode off, to initiate his own position, and deal with some old crones at the gas station. He picked up a few light chains off the side of the highway, along the way.

Jed met Joe behind the school portable. Joe leaned against the portable steps, smoking a cigarette. Jed walked his bike the last couple of steps, after dismounting with flair. "Show off," Joe jested, flicking his ash Jed's way.

Jed adopted a similar pose, feeling a kind of rabid fright take hold in his guts. "Are you feeling a little stage-shy?" Joe inquired, ever so observant. "C'mon, man; this will go down smooth. So smooth, in fact that we'll totally get off scott-free and celebrate with cheap vodka from our last heist at Charles' basement." The two looked off in to the field, musing differing issues. Joe took a long, hissing drag. "Want a hit?" He offered the thin white roll to Jed.

"Feh, naw."

"Suit yourself, buttfuck." Joe puffed away, content.

Joe turned to look at Jed. "What's up, you fine motherfucker? You're never usually this anxious, during a plot."

"This isn’t a plot," Jed reminded. "This is the real deal."

Joe flicked the cigarette away. Again, they faced each other, perchance a little too close for Joe's comfort.

"Jed," Joe said softly, his concern creeping in to his casual tone. "Buddy boy, you gotta tell me what the issue is, fucknut."

Jed leaned in close, off to one side. Fingers stroked his lower lip, his face wrenched in abject consideration. Joe snapped fingers in Jed's face. "Hey. Hey! Jed – you can't get cold feet on me."

"You're right," Jed gasped.

With a speed that threw Joe off-guard, Jed thrust forth and planted his lips firmly upon Joe's. Jed's lips were desperate with pent-up want and unrequited longing; Joe's remained stunned, and immobile. Joe upper-cutted Jed's jaw, letting out a wry cry of pure disgust. Jed's teeth clacked sickeningly, leaving Joe to think he broke some teeth out of the other boy's mouth.

Joe's mind reeled. Quickly, a plot of his own moved in to place. Kicking a writhing Jed's temple, he knocked out the older boy. He took the chains off of Jed's bike, including the bike lock. Wrapping Jed's hands behind his back, clumsily, Joe made swift work of dispatching Jed's ceased cooperation in the plan. Dragging the bony kid in to the school, he chained and locked up the door. Jed brought the chains; Joe brought the locks. How convenient.

Joe went about dealing with the other doors. In no time, the small valley school was all set and ready to burn. Eric, the youngest of the group, had distributed liberal quantities of gasoline about the school, while Joe locked his was around to the exit point.

"Well, boys.. prepare to make history," Joe said, the crew behind him.

Fire began; they knew this first from the smoke, and then the inhuman squealing of Jed inside.

"What happened?" A lone voice dared.

"Fucking faggot; he tried to make me his girl." Joe spat at the ground. "I guess that makes me the leader. First order of business – no buttfuckery. Second order of business – let's get fucking shitfaced."

The ragtag crew collected their bikes, and headed for Eric's mom's house; she was an alcoholic, and bound to have not noticed the Riders' personal stash in the backyard. The Riders rode, the sun fading fast, last minute beams leaving pastel-colored dreamy clouds.

The smoke trail behind them grew thicker and more pungent; it was, in a word, glorious.