He stood with his arms akimbo, staring at the torn tires. His only means of getting home. It was old, passed down from Papi, his grandfather, to his father and now, him.
“Magic, Hakeem,” his Papi had rasped, his eyes lit with excitement. “That's what this bicycle is. It brings only good luck.”
He had sneered at the old man. That was all gibberish talk. He could afford a modern bicycle soon enough.
The light in his Papi's eyes dimmed. “You don't believe me.”
His father smacked the back of his head for such disrespect. Hakeem only scowled in return.
Then word came from the richest merchant in their village. He had goods for Hakeem to sell. The arrangement was simple—he would take part of the profit and return the rest to the merchant.
He rode the bicycle to the merchant's barn. The goods were packed and loaded onto a small cart attached to the bicycle. He set off slowly for the market.
This deal would earn him enough money to buy that modern bicycle.
But on his way to the market, the tires burst and the cart tipped into a gutter. Hakeem was able to save only a handful of the goods, losing the rest in murky waters.
He screamed in anger, thrashing on the ground. This was no bicycle of luck. It was a bicycle of doom.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "the bicycle of doom".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image credit: Trilemedia