His first bicycle had been green, and he had had to share it with his three sisters. It was a Christmas present. The only gift of the year for all of them. It was really great. They usually had small toys as presents. But that year was different. They entered as always in the living room where they had the Christmas tree, in search for their presents, and found nothing but a nice card telling them that Santa had brought a gift so big it was impossible to put it under their modest tree, so it was waiting for them in the balcony. They went excited to open the balcony door and there it was, the green bicycle, with a big red bow. They immediately went down to the square to learn how to ride it. He was the oldest kid, so he learned fast and was the best of all. But his sisters also wanted to ride. He was the responsible one so he organised the turns to play with the new green bicycle.
Mike had to wait till he began to earn some money to have her own bicycle. Blacky. She was his faithful companion in his rides from home to school and later to the university. She was the silent witness of his firsts shy talks with his girlfriend and she saw from the shadows of a nearby tree his first kiss.
They ran thru the streets of the city tirelessly when Mike found a job as a local reporter. Blacky always waited down at the street patiently while he was taking photos around.
Sometimes Mike took risks to capture good images. Those years, the neighbourhood was pretty dangerous. Street violence was booming. It was a big social problem and he reported about it almost daily.
One day, he left her chained to the door of an abandoned shop and never came back. The time passed and there were no news about him. Hours became days, and then weeks, and months… The rain rusted her chains and gears. An unscrupulous mutilated her. Took one of her wheels and her handlebar. Nobody came to pick her up.
She remained at the very spot where Mike had left her. Again a silent witness remembering the absence of her master. Something bad had happened to him that ominous day when he went with his camera in search for news and disappeared. In fact it was all over the news. A piece of paper had flown and landed under her wheels that very night: “Reporter killed in a riot”. But Blacky was just a bicycle. She couldn’t read.
It’s a great story and. Sad story, all in one. It’s the start of something larger. A novel could emerge from when the bike was left there to when a paper stated the news.
Today I was in a gloomy mood. Maybe this is why the story is so sad. You’re right. I can tell many stories about reporters. But right now I prefer not to remember….
Reblogged this on topicgenerator and commented:
This is wonderful. I’ve never felt so moved by a story about a bicycle. Now I’m trying to determine if it’s for better or worse that she couldn’t read.
Thank you, Jennifer. I was a little unsure about this story because it was so sad
What a wonderful story. Sad and so touching.
Thank you. I’m glad you’ve liked it. I had a photo that matched perfectly with the prompt and inspired me.