The Bike Ride | Teen Ink

The Bike Ride

November 27, 2015
By Lysander PLATINUM, Bangalore, Other
Lysander PLATINUM, Bangalore, Other
40 articles 0 photos 87 comments

Favorite Quote:
I slay.

"Hello Kate, " you said that as if it was the best line ever made. You, my best friend, looked stunningly pretty in the glittering shafts of light.

"Hello Grace," I replied. You were blonde, so was I. If it wasn't for your brown eyes and my gray ones, we might've passed off as sisters.

"Ready?" you asked.

I remember nodding.

You kicked the bike and it sputtered to life. I clambered up behind you. We rode smoothly, and the wind ripped at our hair. The sun warmed our tired faces.

But we weren't done yet. We climbed up the hill and slid down the back. We could do this forever, yes, we definitely could. You sang into the air and I let loose a wild peal of laughter.

Why couldn't life be this forever? Sunny, bright and too happy for words?

This string of thought formed in my head.

Maybe I'd said that thing too soon in my head, because it seemed that Fate lost its temper at my question.

Something......something big hit us. The bike reeled ahead. We hurtled away from each other. God, however, was generous even in that wave of shock. He didn't let me see you die, clawing at the air for dear life. All I could see, was your body heading towards the big, jagged rocks that jutted out of the earth.

I hit solid ground. 

As I lay there cradled by thorny bushes and prickly grass, I could hear the dull sound your body made against the rocks.

I remember breathing in a ragged manner.

That was all I coukd do, because my limbs seemed to be disobeying my command.

I was saved.

I was saved.

You weren't.

You were gone.

Suddenly, my limbs got some of their sensation back and they throbbed with pain, my back seemed devoid of a backbone. I could hear shouts. I could feel strong arms lift me up, and prop me on the ground.

And then I saw you.

Or at least what was left of you and the horrible angles your body made on the ground. Blood.

The crimson thing that made you who you were, spilt on the ground. I remember looking away.


Someone told me that you died a quick death. I was happy for that. But then, what was the last thing I told you......?

"Hello, Grace."

I should've been angry with you .

I should've been mad at you, for leaving me like that.

But how could I? How could I, when I woke up with a start almost, every night?

How could I, when I knew you were gone, forever?

Maybe your family, was angry at Life and Fate for making me live through it. For making me land on the harmless, grassy side.

But, what could they do about it?

My problem was, I couldn't blame anyone. I couldn't scream at someone for plunging me in the misery I began to live in.

Everywhere I went, memories like hiding demons creeped up on me and reminded me that I had one less spark in the flame of my life.

I could see you sitting under the old oak tree, doing homework.

I could see you laughing with your siblings in the garden.

I felt like a ship without an anchor, one that can drift away easily.

I knew I was lost in the sea of friendlessness.

No one understood me, and that didn't hurt, because I never expected anyone to.


Five weeks after you left our world for someplace better than reality, I met with a bizarre incident of my own. I was going through the book we shared. Your neat handwriting was sprawled flawlessly beside my hurried scribble. And below it was a picture of us and you had written in glittering, disgusting letters


The book held too many thoughts for me to hold. Fiery tears raced down my cheeks without a single sob escaping my lips. I stared dejectedly at the rain battering against my house. Call it divine intervention or just a bizarre coincidence, that's when I felt wind rush into the room like an unwelcome ghost through a small crack in the window. It flipped the pages to a neat white page and there were three words on your beautiful handwriting.

" Stay strong Kate."

Then the wind, flipped the pages bavk to where the photo was and ran off, whistling as it went.

I could call the wind an instrument of coincidence, but, those three beautiful words weren't in the book when you were here, with me.


A month later, I went over the same spot where I'd met your death. I walked up to those fatal rocks. Your blood was gone, so was your bike. I sat there on the rocks, and as the wind spoke of promises in the future, I knew I was ready to move on.

And as if, I was given a sign from above. I saw something glinting between the rocks. It glowed silver. Your locket.

Yes, it was, indeed, time to move on.

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