A red bicycle

Every once in a while I venture in deep water.
With Rochelle at the helm, I follow daring Friday Fictioneers and I plunge, inspired by a photo of hope, courtesy of Jan Wayne Fields.
The idea is to write a story in 100 words. Or close.
Let the light shine.


A Red Bicycle

I’m five. I never cry.
I’m in the closet again. Mama gimme the gun.
You be quiet, y’hear?
If he finds you, you shoot him baby, OK?
The Man come for his money. He come every day when mama’s not sick.
He yellin’ and hittin’  when he says she’s keepin’ some back.

She’s screamin’. She’s beggin’.
But he don’t quit.

I gotta pee.

Don’t wanna hear’em.
It’s dark.
I can’t see nothin’ but I close my eyes. And I see water, and birds flyin’, and I’m ridin’ a red bicycle…

I gonna have to wash my pants.
Mama be mad.

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