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Your girl’s a renegade

“You know she’s here to destroy it all,” they’d whisper. “She’s only at it for the glory.” But his eyes were starry and his heart was hazy. He couldn’t see the storm that was brewing inside her. His girl was a renegade. A rebel without a cause. She’d flown in by the wind and hadn’t left his side since it started. Pamela Des Barres had taught her everything she knew and she’d hung with the GTO’s. He never had a chance. And so she stayed.


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Weeks went by and it was as if she had always been there. The rock to his roll. The keeper of his secrets. His clothes had been replaced by hers. His sentences finished by her breathy drawls. They’d kiss the sky together and gaze at the moon. It was no longer clear where his identity started and hers finished. They had become one soul. One body. One voice.

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But as many of us have learnt before, one can be a very lonesome number. A rather spiritless figure. The days of banter and sparkling eyes had faded, and now the highs were fleeting. The other boys were weary of her from the start. They saw her influence rise. Her powers had become so thick that they nick-named her ‘the witch.’ A bewitching villan in lace.

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Like any good villan, she began to stir trouble. Cracks formed. Tempers boiled. He turned on the ones he once trusted. They blamed the witch for it all. Love was no longer present in any of them. It had torn them apart. She had destroyed them. Things were not the same, and as the glory faded, like they had predicted, as did she. One day the renegade girl packed up and left on the seat of a Harley. The boys picked up the pieces. Picked up where they had left off. This time a lot more weary, of rebels in lace.