That August day as I strolled along the burning hot sidewalk, I caught a glimpse of a shiny, red bike in a store window. I instantly fell in love with it. It was a truly grown-up bike, with no training wheels or frilly handle-bars. I could just imagine riding down the road with that beautiful bike, smiling a perfect smile. I begged and pleaded for it as a gift for Christmas or my birthday, offering to clean my room every single day for the rest of my life. And then the day came that I had been waiting for forever–Christmas morning.

I casually sauntered and made my way to the glowing Christmas tree. For a brief moment I thought of my baby sister, Ella. I remembered coming down the stairs like this on Christmas when I was five years old. I had yet to learn that my pregnant mother had given birth to Ella, but she had been dead for months in Mommy’s tummy. I could remember crying softly as I saw the baby. She looked so peaceful laying there in the hospital. I had been so excited to be an older sister, and as I walked downstairs I felt a bit lonely, being an only child, but being so close to having a sister.

My parents were making breakfast and as soon as they heard me they came into the living room. My eyes nearly popped out of my head– there, beside the sparkling tree, was the red, shiny, grown-up, brand-new bike! I squealed with joy and delight and thanked my parents hundreds–no, millions–of times. Then I skipped outside to the warm, winter air with my bike to learn how to ride.

My dad and I stayed there in the driveway for several hours that day, not even stopping to eat breakfast. I would sit on the bike and he would push me around. Soon I was peddling with his help of balancing me. Then finally, after the shortest two hours of my life, my dad let go and I was riding on my own! I was so excited to be able to ride my first two-wheeler bike with no help! I smiled energetically back at my dad, who was waving from behind.

The sensation of riding that bike was amazing. I peddled like crazy down the road, and I seriously felt like I was flying. The world was a blur. As I steadily raced around my neighborhood with this amazing new sensation, my eyes noticed a telephone pole on the sidewalk. Man, those electrician guys sure aren’t smart to put it in the middle of the sidewalk, I thought. They should get fired. My brain switched a gear and I suddenly wondered, Shouldn’t I get out of the way? But it was too late and I hit the pole, sending me flying onto the road. My face felt broken, like it was clawed open. I could feel the warmth of blood down my cheek.

Without warning a dreadful scream of brakes filled the air. I literally could feel the tire of the car as it ran over my body. Millions of emotions spun around me, but only one hung on: I was deathly scared. I could hardly feel my physical pain, but the pain of my life was what caught me. Was I at the end of my life? Was I only going to live for another five seconds? I didn’t want to die at age seven! That was way too young. I thought of when my mom was pregnant with Ella. Why did Ella have to die? She didn’t even have a chance to live, but I did. And now, would I die? I suddenly was overcome with sadness, a desperate longing to live longer, unlike my sister. I had never felt such an emotion and it tore m heart apart just thinking about it.

All of this flashed through my mind and my heart in a matter of seconds, and then searing pain brought me back to reality. Life was draining from my body. My lungs were gasping from breath, for life, yet I couldn’t reach the air. I was screaming out, and at the same time I couldn’t utter a sound. I suddenly couldn’t see nor hear properly; all was a blur of frantic faces and shouts. I felt faint and then everything slipped away.

* * *

 Wondering what this is? It’s part of a series of posts from stories and essays I wrote during school. This particular one is a story I had to write in grade eight about a girl who received a red bike for Christmas. I’m sorry for having such dark stories lately.


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