I had a bike called Betsy when I was about six. Grandpa gave it to me about two years before he died. He never managed to teach me, so I taught myself; my knees and elbows were a mess for a while. Once I learnt though, I used to ride all the time, and when no one was looking I even used to ride with my eyes closed, pretending I was flying. I was just returning from a ride when I found my mother in the tub. After that, I never touched a bike again.
For Friday Fictioneers. Hi all! I found it a bit hard to feel inspired this week, I must admit. But no matter, I came up with something in the end.
Thanks for reading.
That moved switftly from idyll to nightmare. Well done.
Thanks, Sandra 🙂
Painful memories are associated with the bike here. Hurt can still be felt.
A lot of memories and emotions packed into that little story. Well done!
Thanks a lot.
Wow.. that was like a punch in the stomach, darling. Well done.
Hehe 🙂 Thanks
This prompt has prompted a number of very sad stories. You got a lot out of your 100 words, especially at the end.
Thanks a lot for your comment, Janet.
Mom needed to be on a bike with her instead of left to her own devices.
The things our minds put together as a pair!
Poor kid. I can only imagine how she found her mother in that tub.
I’m sure you can… Thanks for your comment, Rochelle.
That was hard-hitting. Wow!
Pretty grim. Although I think you should have had her mother give her the bike, then been too preoccupied to teach her to ride it…
True, that would have worked!
That was an evil shock. So well told from a child’s perspective 😉
I’m a newbie. Great little piece, really held a punch.