Short Story Anthology

1- Bicycle 7/18/20

Whew. Bad start. Been a while, huh? The last few months have been crazy... For the world, but also for just me. This one isn't much of a story, more of a vent piece? I dunno. Enjoy.

Vrrr. The garage door slides open slowly, ages-old mechanics working as hard as they can. Straining against it's own inertia, the metal curtain reveals a gorgeous day behind it.

The sun gleams from all angles, not a cloud in sight. Even within the garage, heaping piles of old paper and snack wrappers are illuminated.

Blue sky hangs above the entire scene, totally uniform in an inspiring, light shade. Despite the beauty of the day, no one seems to be taking it in, least of all you.

With a first few shaky pedals, you roll out of the garage and gain your balance, clutching the handlebars with white knuckles.

A thin white cord connects your head to your pocket, playing the same music it always is. It doesn't matter. You've heard these songs so many times that you know them better than you know yourself.

No helmet. Your head is totally unprotected from a possible spill, and at the speed you push the pedals, such a fall would not be conducive to a beautiful day.

At first, it's a nagging worry. Maybe you'll turn around. Return to the dark garage, step over a Funyuns wrapper, and connect your stupid helmet to your stupid scalp. After all, if you don't, you might get hurt.

Fuck that. I hope it does hurt.

Do you?

Your thoughts drift. What did you do productive today?

Your eyes trace the road as you replay your day in your mind.

Woke up at noon.

Had some Funyuns?

Oh Jesus. You better have a real list.

It's getting late. Your moment of reckoning is soon. What the fuck did you do today?

Freedom is a curse, you quip in your thoughts.

What did you do today?

I read a book today.

You ride up upon a curb, and kick your leg onto the grass, jittering slightly. You tug on the small white cord riding along your upper body. At the end of it lies your phone. 7%.

7%.

You turn down your brightness. Can't see the screen. Shading your phone with one hand, you type out Sparknotes with the other.

If you had any focus at all, you would have read a book today.

If you had any focus at all, you would have read the Sparknotes for a book today.

3%. You've only summarized to Chapter 4.

1% a chapter, you calculate.

You can't remember a word of what you just read.

You return to your journey.

Guess you didn't read a book today.

You're so fucked.

What can you say you did today? An important distinction. You did nothing. How can you bluff and stay afloat?

I wrote today.

No, you didn't. You don't have any backlog of writing to pass off either.

Up, down. Up, down. Your thoughts are too much. Up, down. Up, down. Focus on the pedals. Your feet move. Up, down.

Up, down, you did nothing today.

Up, down, you're getting punished today.

Up, down, you're getting punished when you return home.

Up, down, don't go home.

Up, up, down, down. Speed bump.

You fidget back into position. The bump pushed you a bit back on your seat.

The road is greyed from the pressure of so many tires over many years. Despite it's pallor, the burning sun makes it look alive again.

Your eyes are on the road. Your mind is on the road. You are okay.

Shit.

Your thoughts drift.

It doesn't matter if you have something you did today.

You won't be better.

Not that there's much to you worth improving.

You should be fine. If you could just live up to the simplest expectation, you would be happy.

You'd never need to bluff again.

You could be better and it's all your fault.

Oh God.

You've thought this before. There is no value to these thoughts you've had so many times before.

Rationalizing fails.

You're only sad because you want to be.

You crave attention and you made yourself a victim to get it.

You believe your own lies.

Up, down, you're not a liar.

Up, down, mental health is hard.

Your phone is dead. You pull the cords off your face and stuff them into your pocket without stopping.

Up, down, breathe.

Breathing is calming, right? You shift your focus.

Inhale. Mental health is hard for real victims. Exhale. Mental health is easy when you're the cause of all your problems.

Dammit.

Up, down.

You pass the exit of your neighborhood.

Turn the handlebars.

You return to the exit of your neighborhood.

The sun is gleaming.

Today is beautiful.

Brand new eyes.

Nothing is different.

But maybe you can be okay.

Take pride in what is sure to die.

___

See ya.