The Return of the Highwayman

The road was dark, the feel of the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of Sara’s bicycle jarring her body. It was a cold autumn night, and her breath came out in puffs of fog. For the fiftieth time in the past ten minutes, she wished she would have taken the bus instead of braving the park this late in the evening.

The whinny of a horse cut through the air, startling her to a full stop. When she heard nothing else, she began to pedal again with a shake of her head. Try as she might, she would never understand the people in this city.

A black horse appeared in her path, the rider dressed like a character in a Harlequin romance novel. White lace dripped from his cuffs and collar, a black mask covering his eyes. She skidded to a stop.

“Stand and deliver!â€? he shouted, brandishing an old-fashioned pistol in the air. Her bike clattered to the ground, forgotten in the face of this such madness. The horse reared, red velvet cape fluttering dramatically in the wind.

She really should have taken the bus.

View this story's 12 comments.