I have never felt as much pain as I did on that day. I will always remember the pain that enveloped my body as I hit the ground hard. The sheer of not being able to stop is vivid in my memory to this day. I am not afraid to ride, for it was not that traumatic, but I will always remember that horrific event. The event that took place on that summer day.

It started out as an uneventful summer morning. We ate our cereal, and drove over to our friend’s house. Excitement seemed to flow within me as I got out of the car and ran towards the center house on the cul-de-sac. The four girls that were there ran with us, playing tag and other fun games.

Soon, the bikes came out, and we started riding around. Everyone was smiling, except for me because I had no bike to ride. Soon, one girl came up to me, let me have her bike, and dismissed herself to the house. I said a quick thank-you and hopped on. I rode around, and loved every second of it.

Soon, I was riding very fast. So fast that the wind whistled in my ears. Now, I was moving downhill. The lie was not steep, but I was still going very fast. Soon, my excitement was replaced by panic. I needed to stop. I swerved the pedals backward, for those were the breaks I was used to. Unfortunately, the spun back like tops. My panic worsened as I pulled the handlebars. Nothing happened.

I looked up, and might as well have seen the devil himself. In front of me was a house, and I was moving toward it. As a last resort, I screamed. I yelled for help, hoping that the person inside would hear me. I crossed the street, hit the stairs. The bike flipped, and I landed flat on my butt.

I regret to say that not every moment of this event was true. I am not sure what we did before riding bikes. We could have been doing anything. I chose this story to write about because I originally came up with the great lead for the beginning. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a god memoir.