The Boy and The Bike (by Brian Van Slyke)

The boy with the blue and red bike made it clear to the hill that he was not afraid to go down it. The hill stood there and taunted the boy. Walking the red and blue bike to edge of the hill, the boy peered over and saw a distance to the bottom that was probably somewhere near one million feet steep. The tall, green trees laughed at the boy. The boy puffed out his chest and the trees went silent.
The black asphalt that leads the way to the bottom of the hill had no particular emotions about this epic event. It was just an asphalt road that’s sole purpose was to be tread on and to allow other people to use it for their own means. But the asphalt didn’t care, because it never knew any alternative. It didn’t care if the boy made it to the bottom of the hill and pumped his arms excitedly in the air with triumph, or if the boy fell on his way down the hill and cracked his skull open with his brains splattering everywhere. What did the asphalt care if it had splattered brains all over it? Who did the asphalt have to impress?
The hill, on the other hand, had great interest in this event. Just as it had great interest in every car or bike that went up or down the hill. Ever since that damn asphalt road came along, the hill was being used. No longer was it a haven for rabbits and foxes, bees and flowers, worms and all those other beautiful bugs. Now most of its trees were cut down and the cars pumped their exhaust out into the hill’s lungs. The hill wanted the boy to fail, just like it wanted every car to fail as it went up or down the hill. Whether a tree fell in the boy’s path or he hit a rock on the road, the hill would not allow the boy to make it down alive. No more bikes, no more cars, no more sneakers pounding along the road. Only the boy’s brains splattered all over that damn asphalt.
The bike was probably more excited than the boy about going down the hill. The boy had always ridden the red and blue bike a block this way and then a block that way. The boy lived on top of a hill that was blocked on one end by a long fence that belonged to the crazy neighbors and on the other end was blocked by that amazingly steep descent of a hill that the boy had always been afraid of. The bike, being a bike, and having the instincts of a bike, wanted to travel far and long. But the boy kept the bike in the garage where it was dark and lonely because the garage was always mopey and the cars thought they were too good to be friends with the bike. Well, now, it was the bike’s moment to shine. It loved when the boy rode it, but it was getting tired of just seeing the same old road. It needed to get out, to go down the hill, to see what was beyond the hill, to know more than that depressed garage and those snotty cars. The bike would feel the exhilaration of its wheels ripping across the asphalt and screaming goodbye to the world the hill confined it to.
Well the boy placed his butt on the seat and lifted both his feet onto the pedals. Without thinking, he pumped his leg muscles harder than he had ever done before in his life. Just as quickly, though, the boy regretted his decision. The million feet steep, nearly vertical descent was roaring at the boy’s imagination. He saw himself falling, hitting a rock, breaking his head open against the asphalt, brains splattering everywhere, trees laughing. He didn’t want that. The boy panicked and he screamed inside of his head. The wind pressed against him, holding him upright, forcing his eyes shut to protect against the sting of the cold rush of air. Just as he was certain he would never make it, the boy felt the decline of the hill lessen and he shot his eyes open. The boy and the bike had made it. He cheered and cheered, the hill cursed and cursed, the bike was overwhelmed with relief and excitement, and the asphalt wondered what all the commotion was about.
The little rock at the bottom of the hill saw all of this and was pretty darn interested in what it all meant. The little rock had been in this spot for quite sometime, maybe a week, but who knew, it had lost track of time. It had been there ever since the boy with the red and blue bike had kicked it off the top of the hill for his own amusement. The little rock didn’t mind, of course. It always got excited when it moved somewhere new or something interesting happened to it. It’s fairly boring being a rock and it took any hint of excitement it could get with extreme pleasure, as most rocks did. The treads of the tires were becoming larger as they got nearer, and the rock could tell the boy was excited as he flailed his arms in the air triumphantly. The boy didn’t even glance down at the rock as he was about to run over it. That was okay with the rock though, he was used to being ignored and disregarded. The rock saw the boy lose his balance and saw the bike crash to the asphalt ground and saw the brains splatter everywhere.
The hill was happy and the trees had a pretty good laugh.