Schwinn

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

He would fill up the old plastic two-liter bottles with sand. They’d weight ten or fifteen pounds each. He’d tie them to the back of his bicycle, dragging them behind on a long length of nylon rope. He ride down the hill, fast as he could, swerving from one side of the road to the other, the two-liter bottle becoming an uncontrollable obstacle, slamming against the curbs.

He’d cackle. He was a strange kid, a skinny, stupid bull in a china shop who broke windows and shouted people down in conversation. He would also cry at the slightest indication of criticism, and he saw two shrinks.

He sped down the hill, dragging the bottle of sand behind him. It swung like a scythe.

It became lodged became two rocks, part of an expensive wall. He flew over the handlebars and lie there on the ground, crying until the ambulance came. Whoever bothered to call the paramedics hadn’t bothered to leave the house. The ambulance just showed up.

A few days later, he went door to door, arm in a sling, head bandaged, and explained to the neighbors how it was their fault that he had gotten injured.

Someone set his family’s garbage on fire a few times. They eventually moved.

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