This is a short story with a single dialogue, following a twenty-five year old woman riding her cycle amidst all her emotional tornadoes.
Word count: 970
Target audience: Anybody who can feel
Warning: Don’t expect the usual humor I attempt to write
It wasn’t raining.
It was a bright summer day, in fact.
But my eyes were acting like an unclosed tap. The vision became blurry after every few seconds, the tears pooling around my lower eyelid, the salt stinging my eyes even though it shouldn’t. After all, the salty water was a part of my body and now it was hurting me when it met the world outside.
That wasn’t fair.
My hair whipped back as my feet left the pedals of the bicycle I was riding. The downhill slope gave me a break from the tremendous effort I’d to put to get all the way up there. Gravity had given me a gift for the work I’d done against her; it was something only concepts could do because humans never did that, did we?
Giving someone something for fighting against us goes against human nature. Too unusual. We usually don’t even repay the kindness for standing alongside us. Too unusual. Humans didn’t even return something for standing alongside them.
It felt like my tears had been dried up by the light breeze that blew up my face. Reaching the steady road after the hill, I invested my energy into peddling the bicycle;, giving it the same speed it had before. Putting in my hard work to get it moving.
It was funny. I could understand how my work could be the only way this non living thing could get going but I couldn’t understand why added amounts of such hard work couldn’t get a relationship working fine.
The palm trees were lined up beautifully along each side of the road, guarding the street from who knows what. They stood tall—like a wall that can protect a kingdom from invaders. But they also drooped—like the queen of the kingdom falling for an invader.
My feet rose up and down rhythmically, the pedals beneath them doing the same; the action almost became a part of me, and I couldn’t even feel the pressure my knees had experienced when I started pedaling away from home. Should I even call it a home?
A place where the one person you thought would care for you, slaps you right across the face, can’t be home. A place where the one you thought would love you with all their heart, beats you up with his baseball bat, can’t be home. A place you thought the bad boy would become a lover, but never did, can’t be home. This world that asks you to stay faithful and keep believing in a relationship that doesn’t even have any hope left, can’t be home.
I don’t have a home and it isn’t fair.
The so-called high school friends weren’t fair; they said loving a bad boy could blossom into an eternal love story, a love story people would recount. Teenage years weren’t fair; they made me believe there wasn’t anything more important than getting a bad boy’s love. Fairytales weren’t fair; they inspired me to fix broken hearts but never told me it had to be done at the cost of one’s own. Hope isn’t fair; it makes people sit in their own shit for as long as they know…’hoping’ someone would rescue them from there.
Life will never be fair.
But that doesn’t mean it’s the end.
I turned my cycle to the left, entering a narrow bumpy road that was lined by little houses on either side. The kids playing around the light pole cast glances at me, the shorts and tank top I was dressed in giving away light bruises that covered my body. They were sweating from the summer afternoon heat, but their faces didn’t depict anything less than happiness.
I couldn’t help but stop in my tracks, lowering my feet to balance the cycle along with me. A little girl, dressed in a cute little dress, caught my attention. She stood right where she was while her friends took turns to go around the pole, squinting her eyes as she looked at them, all taller than her by inches. Her hands were behind her back, her body lightly swung sideways.
The suddenly her eyes widened and she jumped.
I watched where she had her eyes fixed and saw a woman. A woman who was not much older than me, walked from the end of the street towards the light pole. Her tanned skin seemed to be dripping honey from the the hard sunlight and her eyes were squinted. A simple flower dress covered her body, a dress her daughter was flaunting too.
The scene played out like a movie climax.
The kid wobbled to and fro like her knees were unoiled hinges, falling on her bottom. Then she clapped like the fall was intended and rolled on her stomach to get up again. The mother from the other side took large steps, walking faster towards her child, but smiled when she saw her daughter getting up by herself.
A smile that could light up the world. At least her daughter’s world.
The girl giggled, waving her arms for the arms she knew she was going to feel. The mother picked up her girl and hoisted her high, showing her what it feels like to fly. Both their faces showed happiness that nothing could ever buy.
And that’s when I touched my little bump and stroked it. Maybe this was the thing that would keep me alive. Maybe this is the happiness I’m craving for.
Maybe this would make everything fair.
I lifted my legs and propelled the cycle forward, taking a right turn. It was time to punish the wrongs and move towards the right because life is short and riding towards the negative pole will attract us to a negative world.
It’ll only take us to hell when heaven’s waiting for us.