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Handlebars

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I can ride my bike with no handlebars. You see, I was born into a tragically poor family, who could not afford a complete bike. All they could do was rummage through the local junkyard for spare parts and build me a bicycle. They were able to find all of the parts except for the handlebars. I was incapable of making them sad. My mom would get a look on her face that would break my heart. So, determined to make them happy, I made do with what I had. Every day I would go out and practice riding the bike from sun up till sun down, acquiring various cuts and bruises along the way. I toiled day after day until finally, my hard work paid off. I rode that bike up and down hills; all throughout the neighborhood. As I would ride by houses, all of the other children would run out and marvel at my new-found talent. They would run along side of me and laud my abilities. It felt good. I mean it felt really good. I needed more of this feeling. I craved it. And I was determined to get more of it.
I researched all sorts of talents; all of them just waiting to be mastered. First I mastered tying a cherry stem in my mouth. Everyone loved it. All through growing up I impressed people with one thing or another. As I got older I had to adapt to talents such as running a business and selling you a product. I mastered them like they were nothing. But one day, I came across an article about ending the word in a holocaust. That seemed like something I could totally do. It certainly would be harder than my previous feats, but I would manage.
After hours of research and preparation, I felt ready to begin. The plan was executed marvelously. Soon everyone had perished.
I have one last skill to master: how to have friends when no one exists…





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