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Rated: E · Fiction · Tragedy · #1275668
Short fictional story about a boy and his new bike. A twist makes this a tragedy.
The boy and his new bicycle
Category: Writing and Poetry


The young boy sat on the side of the road, his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.  His foot still caught in the tangled mess of what was once his pride and joy....his new bicycle.  Now, only a contorted glob of metal, his bike was a right off.  What would his father say when he found out?...The boy trembled at the thought.  Before worrying about his father's reaction, he took a few minutes to assess his physical being.  Even at the tender age of 7, he was a very astute and intelligent boy.  He took his injuries in like his mother would have done had she still been alive.  He could almost feel her warm embrace as she bundled him up and cooed over him telling him everything would be fine.  He missed her terribly!!  Enough of that, he told himself as he examined his arms.  His palms were scratched up, skin peeling back in areas, revealing pieces of embedded sand and small stones.  He picked at the larger of the stones until he had removed the majority of them.  Mother would have taken his hands in hers and kisssed them better, had she been there with him.  He put his hands to his own lips, kissing them...but it just wasn't the same.  They still hurt and stung despite the kisses.  Next, he examined his legs.  They had taken a bigger beating than his hands had.  His knees were raw and sore.  The first few layers of skin had been sheered off as his knees had hit the pavement and skidded across the uneven ground.  There was one fairly large gash on the side of his calf, and the blood seemed to squirt out of it just like Mr. Jones' water sprinkler did this summer.  Ssppt, ssppt, ssppt......The boy was facinated by the constant rhythm of the blood leaving his body.  He stared at it for what seemed like a life time before he realized it was arterial blood...bright red, squirting out in time with every heart beat, pooling around his mangled legs.  That wasn't good, he thought to himself.  He had learned all about the danger of arterial bleeding, thanks to the ever popular tv show "Trauma Centre: Life In The ER".  The boy knew he had to stop the bleeding or else he might die from volume loss.  Trauma Centre...he loved that show. 
He looked around to see if there might be anyone available to help him.  He still had his leg caught in the tangled mess of his bike, and he couldn't get up on his own.  As he looked around for assistance, he realized that it was only 7:00am, Sunday morning.......everyone was still sleeping, and no one was around.  He recalled how excited he had been upon waking this morning.  He couldn't wait to ride the new bicycle that he had received for his birthday last night.  He had wanted this bicycle with every ounce of his being.  However, he knew that it was very unlikely that he would receive it.  It was just too expensive and his family was not that well off.  Since his mother had died last year, his father had lost his job and was still out of work, 14 months later.  Money was tight and it was hard enough to keep food on the table, never mind wasting it on a new bicycle for him. 
He recalled the scrapbook that was in the bottom drawer of his hand-me- down desk.  It was filled with pictures and drawings of this very bicycle.  The blue one with the banana seat, and cool horn that said "awooga" every time he squeezed it.  Hockey cards in the spokes were another amazing part of this bicycle.  They made a really cool sound, something like Johnny's drum roll that he practiced every day in hopes of being a rock star.  The harder he peddled down the street the more those cards made that awesome sound.  That, the boy thought, was the reason for his accident.  He got so caught up in the sound coming from the spokes of his bike that he didn't look at where he was going until it was too late.  He could have sworn that car was not parked there when he rounded the corner at full tilt seconds before. 
The blood coming from his leg was still pouring out at a steady rate.  The boy knew he needed to get to the hospital soon before his time ran out.  But how was he going to do that?  He couldn't get his foot free of the tangled bicycle, he couldn't stand up, he couldn't do a darn thing to help himself.  The boy began to cry as he realized the severity of his situation.  If someone didn't come and help him soon, he might just die. As he contemplated his situation, the boy began to feel tired and sleepy.  That was definitely not a good sign he thought to himself.  Panic was beginning to set in.  It was unfathomable to the boy that not a single sole was outside on this warm autumn day...however, that indeed was the case.
Struggling with the bicycle, trying to free his mangled leg from the carnage, the boy began to drift off into a dream like state.  Was this what it was like to die?  he thought to himself.  The pains in his hands and knees were beginning to wane, as was the speed in which the blood spewed out of the nasty gash in his leg.  The boy decided to conserve his energy for a few moments and laid back on the cold ground, thinking of how he might free himself.  He closed his eyes, his breathing became more and more shallow,  and he began to feel very cold and shivery.  Just as he thought his life was over, a draft blew across his face carrying with it a very familiar scent..but where did he recognize it from?  It was so familiar, yet not.  He struggled with the thought, trying to figure out where he knew that scent from.  As his mind worked on that question,  he felt himself rise up into the air, like he was floating.  This is what it must be like to die, he thought to himself.  That wonderful, comforting scent was all around him now, wafting about his nostrils as he took one last breath in.  His final thought as he succumbed to his injuries was that the scent reminded him of his mother on Sundays when she'd wear perfume to church.  That thought struck the boy with such force that he bolted upright, eyes springing open as he wildly looked around searching for his beloved mother.  Was that her over there by the tree?  The boy had to know.  He rushed to his feet and ran toward the image that looked so much like his mother.  He got half way to the tree where that lady stood before he realized that in fact he was running.  He no longer was caught in the mangled mess of his bicycle.  He was delighted at this thought and turned to look at where he had come from, only to stop dead in his tracks.  There behind him, was the body of a boy, tangled in a mangled bicycle, with blood pooling around his crumpled being.  It didn't take long for the astute, 7 year old boy to realize that that boy was actually him.  Before he could cry out in anguish about his death, he felt a presence behind him.  He slowly turned around and found his beloved mother standing there with her arms out stretched.  Just as he had imagined her to be many times since her death.  He ran to her and those out stretched arms,  flying into her embrace with such force that they both tumbled to the ground.  His beloved mother had come for him in his time of need.  He would never be alone again.  A peace and calmness fell over the boy and his mother as they began to walk toward the warm and inviting light beside the great oak tree.  One final glance over their shoulders, revealed a grief stricken man, kneeling over the body of the boy in the street.  I will come back for you when it is your time Daddy, the boy thought.  He turned away, hand in his mothers hand, and embraced the light that engulfed them both.  No longer in pain, the boy smiled at his mother, and he knew at that time that he was safe and loved forever. 

© Copyright 2007 nlcwriter (ncars40 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1275668