December 25th, 2009, 12:50 AM:
It was Christmas Day. Well, technically it was. I stood there staring at my brand new possession. It was a replacement for my old one that was stolen and destroyed. I wanted to ride it right now, but it was freezing cold outside. But I didn’t care: I got my thick coat and walked my new bicycle outside.
I knew it was below freezing outside since I saw black ice embedded in the street. I hopped on my bike and started pedaling. At first I was a bit shaky, getting used to my new bike. I got the hang of it and started soaring though the dark, cold streets. I missed the feeling of being on a bicycle. I felt the cold, freezing air hitting my face and my hands. I started to go faster and faster. I ignored my emotions and thoughts. Everything looked so peaceful and quiet, passing the laminated and decorated houses. I didn’t see that patch of black ice.
I lost control of my bike and fell hard on the black ice. I was in so much pain, I couldn’t move. I lay there, cold and in pain. Each time I tried standing up, a sharp pain coursed through my knee. I started crawling towards my bike. I got a hold of the handles, but then I heard footsteps.
It was a kid about my age and height. He was wearing a blue jacket, black jeans, white tennis shoes, and a white beanie.
“It looks like you need some help,” he said.
“Yeah, sure…” I mumbled.
He helped me up. “So what are doing you out here so late?” he asked.
“Just taking a ride on my bike, until I ran into some black ice…” I answered while trying to walk.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said in a sterner tone of voice.
“Why?” I questioned.
“Just 'cause, it’s dangerous out here,” he said in a low voice. I picked up my bike and used it to help me walk.
“Do you need help getting home?” he asked.
We both walked down the empty streets, turning and crossing. We talked about random stuff and our lives. We both had many things in common. I was really enjoying the presence of my new-found friend. We got to my house and I said to him, “Thanks for helping man, I really appreciate it."
“No problem, it’s time for me go now,” he happily said.
“Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” I said.
“Frank Torres,” he answered.
“Hey, where do you live? I'd like for us to hang out sometime,” I said to him.
”Where do I live…? Uhh... I live upstairs now,” he responded.
He started to walk away. “Wait… what?” I yelled out. I tried running, but the sharp pain in my knee prevented me from doing that. He disappeared behind the distant houses.
I never saw him again after that night. I recently found out that the bike I have used to belong to a kid before he went missing. The parents sold the bike to my dad. Sometimes in a cold winter night I could see him in the distance and hear:
Written by Sloshedtrain