My Bike

Isaac Madla


The shiny dark blue with black mixed together
the smell of brand new tires,
the exhilaration of the moment.
Dad thrusts it from behind, shares with me a
last second advice, and releases.
As I ride downhill uncontrollably
I sink into the rough pavement,
and I shatter my right thumb nail.
I cast an eye over it as I see it profusely bleeding.
I screech terrorized with pain.
In a failed attempt to stop the hemorrhage,
my eyes gape at what it appears to me a pouring fountain of blood.
I seek desperately for my father,
I cry out “blood”, as I apply pressure to my thumb.
I rush into my house’s washroom,
and cleanse it from all impurities of the ground.
My bike, my initial incident.

Comment Stream

2 years ago
0

Nice!

2 years ago
0

nice

2 years ago
0

Thanks

2 years ago
0

Good Job