It’s Just Like Riding a Bike – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to our wonderful host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and to Jellico’s Stationhouse for the intriguing photo.

The challenge is to write a 100-word story, based on the photo prompt below. My story is semi-autobiographical.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse

(Personal Fiction: 100 words)

It’s Just Like Riding a Bike

Emily wobbled while her siblings breezed past. Soon, the Rathbone family would return the borrowed bikes to their vacationing owners.

“Eyes ahead. Don’t look back,” said sister Marianne.

Emily sailed by unattended, like a trapeze artist with no net.I’m doing it!” Then Emily looked back.

Crash. 

Later, Emily attended a college swimming in bikes. Not since her childhood had she ridden one, but her body remembered and into the sea of pedaling students she went. Sweat dripped from her temples as she approached the hit-or-miss intersection.

Crash.

Their wheel spokes tangled together and Emily stared into pools of blue.

Crush.

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End notes: As a kid, I didn’t have a bike, but I remember this accelerated week of learning to ride. I had one week to learn how to ride on this borrowed bike. I did it, but I crashed…a lot. Later when I went to a biking college, I was pretty scared to ride a bike again because it had been so long since I had done it! I made up for lost time, riding everyday for a solid 4 years. I still crashed sometimes, but I met some nice people along the way. 🙂

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Rendezvous – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, a weekly writer’s link-up, hosted by the lovely and gracious Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Writers around the globe compose a 100-word story based on a photo. This week’s photo was provided by Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra. It looks such a lovely spot, but in my story today, a place of intrigue. A little serious, a little silly, using the props of the photo.

If you would like participate, instructions are here. All are welcome!

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

Genre: Suspense (100 words)

Rendezvous 

Martin flattened against the walls. Outside his peripheral vision, a couple walked as one, heads together, a laugh between them; an isolated man dragged his pack on the cobblestones. Someone always watched; he caught a shadow in the dormer at 12:00.

A whistling man approached and bumped hands with him, revealing the  symbol: a flame, encircled and crossed with swords, tattooed on his wrist. He passed a bag into Martin’s hand,  jumped on his bicycle and turned a corner.

Inside the bag was a donut. He recalled the message: sugar of the gods. He smiled, mounted the available bicycle and followed him.

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