flash fiction

Flash fiction is a very short story usually under a thousand words. I thought there might be room here for one or two. So anyone is welcome to join in. If it's a waste of space the mods can toss it I don't mind...

The small rider pulled, what looked for all the world like an antique motorcycle, into the parking lot of the working class restaurant. When the smoking engine shut down, there was definitely a reduction in the noise level. The bike was loud and smelled of oil smoke, there was no arguing that.

The rider swung a leg over the bike that was on the edge of being too tall for an acceptable fit. Still the rider managed it without falling over. Off came the black, full size motorcycle helmet revealing a thick head of curly hair. The real proof that the rider was a woman came when she removed the nylon windbreaker. Even in the sloppy sweat shirt, there was no doubt left in anyone’s mind. She opened the door of the restaurant with her helmet and windbreaker in tow.

“Good morning Sarah, I see you broke your Dad’s bike out.” The old man who was heading out the door said to her.

“The sun is shining and it’s 45 degrees, it’s time to ride.” she replied cheerfully.

“Wish I could ride with you. It’s a little chilly for me. My blood is too thin.” he said ti with a laugh.

“Well, it is going to get warmer for sure.” the woman, well on the spring side of middle age, commented. “Maybe next time.”

“Seeing you on that bike tells me it’s spring,” A burly construction worker said as he passed her at the door. “Now get in there before you starve to death. By the way the offer to buy one of the bikes your dad built is still good.”

“Ed, I could live off my accumulated body fat for a month, You know the bikes are all gone.” she said going through the door. Everyone knew Sarah, and everyone knew that she had ridden her dad’s bike on the first real spring day each of the last three years. It was her show of love and respect for her dad’s memory.

My wife came to the shop door. “Charlie you need to come out here. Some men want to see you.”

Once I cleared the shop door I saw them. Two pretty fit looking, young men in uniform stood in my driveway. “Can I help you guys?”

“Mr. Evans, I’m officer Handy and this officer Gem. We need to talk to you about your bikes.”

“Ah so you are the bike police. Why are you in a patrol car?”

“The bike police don’t ride bicycles. We enforce the emergency bicycle law.”

“Oh I see, and which law are you enforcing today.”

“We would like to inspect your bicycles.” The one called Gem said.

“Don’t you need a warrant to do that. I mean at the moment,I’m not riding them, so I’m not in violation of anything.”

“Sir just owning a gasoline powered motorized bicycle is illegal. If we find such a motorized bicycle on the property, when we get back with a warrant, we will seize them. We will also take you to jail. I would suggest that you have about an hour to get rid of those bikes.”

After they left, I quickly removed the bolt on friction drive engines from my two bikes. I put the engines in a box then padlocked it. It was the most I was willing to do to stay our of jail.”

Terrific story Dog

I rode the elevator down from the 6th floor. My one room studio apartment was located on that floor. I was lucky to have gotten it. Housing for the elderly was usually assigned to those over seventy. To have gotten one at 60 was a bit of a miracle. The parting of the red sea, and Mathew ‘Matt’ Wilson in a nice safe senior citizen towers apartment, were abut the same to me. The two might not seem proportional, unless you came from a middle-class lifestyle and lost everything at 60. Then you might be facing life on the streets, or almost as bad, living in some boarding house somewhere. No money and no family or other resources at my age was a real nightmare.

My step daughter felt just enough human kindness to help me get qualified for the senior citizen apartment. I made it in because when she made the application,I was on the death watch list. I had been diagnosed with two terminal conditions. The housing authority expected me to end my days at the towers and to do it quickly. However someone forgot to consult with the man upstairs. For some reason I didn’t die as expected. Oh I was about fifty percent of my old self, but even that part worked most of the time.

At the end of my first month in the towers, I found that I had thirty dollars left from my Social Security disability check. It was a small check, but I did almost nothing. I sat on my small balcony and watched the traffic in the street below. I suppose that lack of activity explained my tiny surplus of funds. I had no thoughts whatsoever of saving the money. I figured the rest of my life was that rainy day for which people saved.

I paid fifty cents to ride the bus, which ran past the Salvation Army store. I knew what I wanted, it was just a matter of finding it. The Salvation Army thrift store had one very old mountain bike in the basement. It needed a little adjustment to the seat height, but I could manage it, so I bought it for ten bucks.

I rode the bike home. Well I rode it most of the way home. I did have to get off to rest once, and I had to push it up one large hill, but I did make it home. That night I made this note in my journal. Paid ten dollars for bike...saved fifty cents bus fare. The bike wasn’t a profitable venture at the time, but I expected it to become one.

The more I rode that bike, the more I felt like riding it. I began to see an improvement in my breathing and stamina. One morning I realized that my attitude was better. I was more optimistic for some reason.

I spent hours on the bike riding up and down the main streets of town. I stayed on the sidewalks mostly but I did venture into traffic now and then. I began to notice the same people in the same places day after day. At first I just waved at them, then it was “Good morning Ma’am" or “How’s it going Sir.” I think my life took on a new direction as I became an observer of life not just someone taking up space on the planet.

All of that was thanks to a ten dollar bike from the Salvation Army thrift store.