AN:

Thank you all for the reviews! I love reading them, and I love that all the interpretations are different. Everyone brings their own fresh take. Thank you! Keep 'em coming! XOXO

Fear and Loathing in the Desert

I am a fever, I am a fever

I ain't born typical

I am a fever, I am a fever

I ain't born typical

As the sun set over their sandy island, it looked Viking-like. Pirates and pearls of wisdom, adventure, and glory. Instead of sea people, they were sand people. Benches and chairs had been pulled up to watch the biggest race of the year. This rustic paradise, a spiritual refinement. A plethora of cars of varying sizes parked at the entrance. Motorbikes outlined the simplicity of living in the rough. Even the motorcyclists were here for this. They felt it a responsibility to living, as they set up their tents, a cabin of freedom to shelter them from the cold as they party all night long.

A brand new light sprinkled about, from streetlights to smiles. It was Christmas to them. Centuries of stories, myths, fairytales told by parents to their children, wrapped humbly around an arcady of pathos and humour. It keeps the burrows of the planet alive. Tatooine tales entrusted to the next generation.

Anakin sat on the backrest of a bench with his feet up on the seat. He twiddled a toothpick in his mouth as his dead set eyes watched Maul.

That guy... The infamous local race-car champion, who'd been racing outside of Tatooine for the past year. In the big leagues. That guy was back in town, wearing a black poncho over his red-tattoo-covered arms.

Maul was standing on the hood of his car, mimicking the act of surfing, while a crowd of googly-eyed admirers cheered him on. Maul was a classic rags-to-riches story for the locals. He was the man who got out of this small town and made a name for himself. He seldom returned to these lands.

Wald strolled over to Anakin and sat on the bench's backrest as well. It wasn't lost on him that Anakin was coiled up in his musings.

"It's all one great, big movie." Wald said with that ever-tranquil tone, clear and gentle as a river.

Anakin's forehead crinkled, facing his friend in that wacky bucket hat, preparing himself to enter the wonderfully weird mind of Wald. "What? You quoting the Scream movie now?"

Wald let out a half-smirk. "Think of this as one big, bad high school movie. Guys like Sebulba are the jocks, they drive the nice cars, they date the cheerleaders. And there's Maul – he's the star football player. And everyone's banking on him to get a scholarship. And he might have a pretty, cool career for a while. But he'll burn out. They all will. They peaked in high school. You, though... You're the brooding, lost boy in the corner of the cafeteria. You. . .are the one people secretly root for."

Anakin gave his friend a heartfelt pat on the back. "Thanks, Wald."

Upon hearing Aayla call them to get ready through a megaphone, Anakin rose up and headed over, tying his flannel shirt around his waist. The minute his eyes locked with Maul's, Maul did a backflip off the car; impressive to everyone else, leaving a tinge of jealousy within Anakin. Maul came to him with an almost sinister grin, scratching his bald head.

"Ani..." Maul chortled at Anakin's growth spurt since he last saw him. He was quite a few inches taller than him now.

"Maul." Anakin held his cocky head high. "You're shorter than I remember."

Maul lit up a cigarette; his eyes steadfast on Anakin. He dragged out a puff. And Anakin could taste old habits from where he stood.

"I know what you're thinking. At last, you'll have your revenge." Maul expressed a loud guffaw and knocked Anakin's shoulder as he loosely walked off.

A backdrop of Deja Vu sprung from the mountainside. Anakin sat in his car, listening to Artoo's rumbling engine. After all, he was in charge; he told Anakin what to do. It was a relationship, a mission that allowed Anakin no room for emotions. Purpose, will power, and discernment must be channeled in every spin of the wheel, every press on the pedal, every shift of the gear. It reminded Anakin what he loved about racing... The surrender. Let loose. He had created many memories within these paths. He was sentimental, temperamental, full of feral energy.

Anakin and Maul shared a passing glance. The screams of the crowds could rival pyrotechnics; the sheer number of people swallowed the wind, blocking it from the here and now. But Anakin knew the cars would breathe life back into the wavy skies.

When Aayla gave the signal, both cars sped off, the tires left a pop of dust behind for the winds to inhabit. They drove on the old, stubborn road. Maul was in the lead, just like Anakin remembered him. He reminisced the first time his young self touched these very grounds, watching Maul as if he were the first flash of lightning he ever saw. Anakin had gone through hell at that time, a pain unraveled and purged in this very car. It was therapeutic, a haven he entered at his own risk. And he was glad he did.

He dedicated his time to being the best he could be. Learning the ropes, watching Maul and other racers he admired. He felt those same butterflies in his stomach now. Sometimes they'd get stuck in his throat in fear but on the way down, he realized this was his homecoming.

He is here, scared but brave, bold but vulnerable. He breathes, he drives, he dreams, he flies. Such is life. A soaring life. He caught up with Maul, who bumped into him immediately. Artoo teetered on the rocks – incidental – nothing to dwell on as far as Anakin was concerned. Maul, of course, shot ahead like an animal hunting, stalking the finish line. That's what he does. His car as angry as him. But Anakin refused to back down. His courage transcribed within his beating heart – even if he's left with nothing but pieces of himself by the end. Today will be the day he makes poetry, wanders into the timeless title, the mystery, the heroism.

Obstacle after obstacle thrown his way by Maul's talents behind the wheel, Anakin drove through a series of delicate turns, dodging Maul's game. Maul moved faster than the moon's light shone its bright path across the sand dunes – until Anakin swooped in the lead, turning Maul's face fiery red with fury.

This was Anakin's favourite part. When the open road lies before you, racing doesn't filter the truth. This is freedom. And it didn't matter if nobody else got it. Anakin was fine with being misunderstood because in this moment his life started up again. It had stopped for a brief period. As he drove along the field of grit, and the smell of clean air filled the car, he felt mythological, legendary, gliding across the prickly desert floor.

This is flying. It's undeniable. When the desert sings, we are to explore the feelings, the fuzzy, the significant, the important. Anakin crossed the finish line. He felt blind, as if led only by faith and the cheers behind him. The audience was power and passion, an atmosphere of sex, danger, liberation.

Anakin stepped out of the car. There were no helmets, no safety net; pure adrenaline rush. It was a tragic tapestry compounded of the sweat and dirt and epicness of thrill seekers. He smiled through the dust storm of chaos. Some would think racers were deranged, but he felt chosen.

Maul got out of the car after him, slapping his own hood, quickly accompanied by very few supporters. It's funny how quickly they turned on him. They raise you up to bring you down. You're only their saviour when you're winning.

The liveliness of the desert race settled, exchanged for the colourful lives of the onlookers spreading across the park – to the drinks and food trucks – notebooking this as a record of the past, a crazy chapter. People move on quick. They are easily distracted. To Maul it was disastrous. Would he throw in the towel? He wasn't ready to be replaced by someone younger, more ambitious. Perhaps he no longer had the same zest he once did.

A grinning Anakin took his medal, loving every minute of the recognition. He made it out on top.

Anakin remembered Joseph Campbell's words, 'The greater life's pain, the greater life's reply.'

His thoughts were interrupted by Sebulba coming to hug him. "Let's go, Ani! We're off to the Hutt's club."

"Huh?" He almost didn't hear him from all the camera flashes and cries conducive to sportsmanship from the little group rallying around him. "No, it's late. I gotta get home."

"Anakin." Sebulba said matter-of-factly. "Come and have a fucking celebratory drink with us. Besides... You and I are about to be rakin' it in."

Sebulba subtly handed Anakin an envelope. Anakin knew it was a wad of cash, but he tried not to look down. Sebulba walked off, cool as a cat. Anakin rubbed the dirt off the tip of his nose, trying to relax. Shake off the erroneous assumptions that he shouldn't be in love with life right now. Out with the anxiety, in with the inviolate victory. Yet he felt uneasy. Somehow the money robbed him of his peace of mind. So much for coming out unscathed.

The Hutt club had the opulent designs of a large casino, but Anakin, Sebulba, and a few other team members were taken into a small, dimly lit bar within it that was dusty from the drunkards and foggy from the cigar smoke. Anakin could taste it all. It tasted of money, shamelessness, hubris. Dusky murmurs in the distance were eroded by loud clanks of glasses. The women looked like they were paid to be there. Paid in gold based on the glitz drooped over them, chains hung around their necks. There were rich men in expensive suits sitting on decorative chairs, and silk curtains hung behind them. So many sounds and bodies rubbed together in the little space. Anakin saw mouths move but couldn't hear a word. The music glaring like a deceptive soundtrack to an eerie night. The only speech was in his head, animated with images of growing regret. He shouldn't be here.

Every now and then a waitress wearing as little as possible would pass with burning incense sticks and cocaine. She also brought drinks to the boys. After chugging a beer, Anakin felt someone slap him across the back of his head. He turned to find a boorish Maul, whose blood boiled. His prideful eyes were now cadavers. His insides ablaze with whatever hard drugs he was into this week.

Maul grabbed him by the flannel shirt Anakin now wore over his t-shirt.

Anakin's eyes quickly adjusted to what was happening. "What the–"

Words shriveled with real and raw pain as Maul growled out, "Make the most of it, kid. You won't last long." It was a clear threat through a malignant stare. Maul wasn't ready to embrace the competition. Hidden behind vengeful whispers were so many secrets, imperfections.

Anakin blinked. For a second, he saw himself.

Before he could think another thought, Maul's fist moved language around in his head. That's when Anakin felt a red mist overcome him, a virulent sketch drew in his mind. And then he saw nothing but rage.

Slowly, Anakin crawled into bed beside Padme. He nuzzled into her hair that fanned out across the pillow. He could bathe in that fruity, creamy scent of coconut milk, vanilla, and rose petals.

She felt his hot lips on the nape of her neck and stretched up to turn on the lamp. Seeing his face, she jerked up. Colour had dropped from her cheeks.

"Oh my god! Anakin!"

Anakin's eyes looked like they were drowning in a dark pit of alcohol, a welt shaded his temple to his left eye where Maul's blow landed.

"I'm alright." He shushed her gently. His hand hovering over hers about to touch the bruise.

"What happened to you?"

"I won." He said with a sheepish chuckle, trying to distract her from looking at his swollen flesh. "Maul was a little more than pissed about it."

She didn't know whether to congratulate him or cry. It was hard to weed out the many emotions flooding her at once.

"What happened?" She moved his hair away from his face to get a better look. "Are you okay?"

His eyes warmed to her fresh, photographic face, powdered with a look of sorrow and softness. It was these moments he liked best. When they are alone, bare and back to basics. A love affair that goes with the flow.

"It was a silly fight. I'm fine, honestly. You should see the other guy." Anakin joked. He then eagerly leaned in to kiss the skin on her exposed neck, but she pulled back.

"Anakin..." She straightened up against the headboard. "I'm pregnant... I don't need this right now. I don't need you coming home in the middle of the night with a black eye. I don't need the stress. Neither do you."

"You're right." He spoke quietly, feeling his heart in his chest littered with shame. "I promised you I'd take care of you... This isn't it."

She saw the guilt in his downcast gaze and squeezed his hand. "Part of taking care of us is taking care of yourself."

He nodded, eventually looking back up at her. An attractive pout wiped the slate clean. "You mad at me?"

She relinquished a smile, the prettiest, natural glow. "Yes!' She replied, only half seriously, and that made him grin.

He took her hand and held it to his mouth. She felt the softest stroke of his lips on her knuckles. "...I didn't take the money." He murmured, soothingly, and her eyes brightened. "Just Artoo."

Her grin grew wider, and she pulled him in for a kiss.