Cycling Stories

She Moves Slowly

September 23, 2020


She Moves Slowly

She moves slowly around the hallway. The stairs go down, down, down, and her feet hit the floor softly.  

The air in the house is bone-chilling and dry. Her eyes fill with tears as she looks back at the once-friendly home. “I am sorry,” she exhales. “I must go now. I cannot bear the pain that I feel. I know, old house, that you will understand.”  

The silence is broken as loud, tumultuous footsteps echo from the room down the hall. She slips out of the front door, wiping her eyes, slings her knapsack over her shoulder, and slides one leg over the bicycle frame. The wheels, desperate for air to be pumped inside of them, slowly make their way down the driveway and onto the street of the quiet neighborhood.  

He stands in the doorway, screaming her name and cursing her livelihood. She reminds herself she must not look back, for this bike is her only escape, which she must focus on keeping a steady momentum. The pedals move up and down in a one-two pattern. Her eyes are fixated on the horizon.  

This was the beginning of a new life, an unknown fate. This bicycle would take her places she could only pray. She took one final, nervous breath, and pedaled on into the horizon, never looking back.

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