PROSE

The Abandoned Bike

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 The Abandoned Bike

It lay there in the gutter beside a single dirty white runner. The rain fell uncaringly on its two worn black tires, the handlebar wound with grey tape and the rusty silver bell. Night was falling and the streets were empty of people. A scrawny black cat huddled in a dark doorway, blinking now and then.

I’m all alone, it thought mournfully. He isn’t coming back. What will happen to me?

The cat suddenly leaped to its feet and pelted away down the street.

A soft whirring sound grew louder until it was so loud it reverberated all around it.

Oh no, it moaned.

Then the huge moving machine came closer and closer, menacingly. Until it was right over it, pounding it to nothingness. The machine moved laboriously down the street into the next block.