Self-Imposed Unhappiness

The night was silent except for the soft hiss of bike tires eating up wet pavement, and a ragged, shallow breathing as the girl pedaled as hard as her legs would allow. Most times, you couldn’t even see the figure, except for a flicker as she passed underneath the occasional dirty yellow street lamp, her copper hair flying out behind her like a flag. The bike protested as she took a turn at nearly full speed, almost falling off in the process; it seemed as if sheer determination to just keep going was the only thing that kept her on the vinyl black seat. She didn’t know how much time had passed since she left, and she had no idea where she was going. It just had to be away. She pedaled blindly, winding her way through the empty darkness, her mind on other things.

Well, one other thing.

The only thing she wanted to do was forget that night, but the recent scene just kept replaying in her mind’s eye like some horrible movie.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter anymore. Just go.

View this story's 6 comments.