Flash Fiction: 13

(This story is from the archives. I didn’t write this today.)

Crash! BAM!

He was on a bike heading down Rowan Avenue, right where the hill hits a flat part for cross traffic, when he saw the car door of a red Honda suddenly open. He was riding at about 30 miles per hour. He had only a fraction of a second to avoid impact. He made the move. He was a fraction of a second too late.

Crash! His body and bike hit the Honda so hard the door of the car bent forward.

BAM! The abrupt stop threw him off the bike and he hit the ground hard.

“AAGGGHHHH,” he cried in pain.

“Holy shit,…..are you okay?,” asked the driver of the car. “Are you okay dude?,” he repeated.

“FUUUCK, son of a bitch!,” the young man cried. He looked over at the bike, it was his girlfriends bike. How was he going to explain this. She needs that bike for weekend treks. It lay pretty badly bent.

“Are you okay,” said the driver again. “Let me get my phone to call an ambulance.”

The man then got in his car, closed the twisted door with one hard pull and drove off, never to bee seen again.

“FUUUCK, son of a bitch!,” he repeated to no one.

He was able to get up and walk back home. Embarrassed and unable to pay for the damage, he never told his girlfriend what happened. Instead, he broke up with her that same night. Just made up a reason and did it.

On the weekend when she called to come get her bike he made up a story of how the bike was stolen and never to be seen again.

He sold bike for parts and kept the helmet.