Mike's Short Story

SHORT STORY
MIKE
One time, there was a person and he loved biking. He decided to take an extremely large burm jump. He practiced day in and day out to become an ultimate biker. He learned a few new tricks in the process. He figured he could finally take the jump. He slowly climbed the hill and stopped at the top. He looked down. It was a much bigger jump than he expected it would be. He started having some second thoughts. He was about to do something that could either give him a good reputation or make him never see the light again.

He took a deep breath and sat on his bike. He closed his eyes and started down the hill. He almost forgot to open his eyes and lift up his front tire. He launched off the jump and his bash guard clanked on the tip. He did an X-up, a tail whip, and a nothing all in the same swift motion. He landed with a thud as gravity pulled him to the ground. His front tire started to swerve. He screeched to a stop just before his back tire breaks jarred. He had done the unthinkable. He had survived the thirty-foot jump with the seven-foot lip!

The next day, he went to the skate park and started practicing on the half pipes. He was slowly learning how to be a great biker. He met with some other good bikers and took jumps with them. They took a break and talked for a bit. The boy learned from his new friends that a tournament was going to be at the CN Center in a few days. He HAD to enter. Even if he did not qualify for the tournament, the things he could see would be amazing enough. He came to the conclusion that he would enter the competition the following day.

The next day, he practiced and practiced until he improved a lot. He brought two bikes to the CN Center and saw who the competitors were. He gasped. There were pros all over and they were using the set jumps as warm-ups. He only used them in tournaments. He knew that this was going to be an adrenaline pumping, intense and difficult tournament. He signed his name on the sign-up sheet and headed for the starting line.

He let his eyes wander around the stadium. He saw all of the fans screaming for action. The kid felt like he was on top of the world. There was not even a word that best described exactly how he felt. His mind raced like a dragster going two hundred. The kid thought, “You are very lucky so you don’t turn this down. Throw all of your second thoughts in the trash and get ready. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life brings tournaments, YOU ENTER THEM AND WIN!” This made him think for a while. He chewed on his fingernails thoughtfully. His peripheral vision saw the pros walk up to the starting line. He could not back down now. No way. He just had to look good in front of the pros. It was in his blood. He glanced at the ref and the judges getting ready. He leaned over his bike and made a quick prayer to be safe. He put his sweaty hands on the handlebars and squeezed the brakes to test the tension. The air smelled bad from all the people. It smelled like a mixture of overweight people having a chilli break at a pulp mill. He could even smell the new dirt and gravel. The ref raised his gun and as the blast rang through the boy’s ears, he thought, “Okay. HERE I GO!”

He kicked his pedals with the might he didn’t even know he had. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he started down the slope. Faintly, he heard the announcer speak (More like scream over the roar of the crowd), giving the play-by-play of the bikers. He took his gaze off the track to look at the people around him. Some of them looked like they weren’t from around town. He tried to imagine where they could have come from, but his foot slipped and a steel back pedal to the shin brought him back to reality. He grimaced in pain but he drew his attention back on the track. He gripped the handlebars tighter as he rocketed off the first jump. He was used to kind. He used this type all of the time. He was confident with himself. Almost too much, but he kept himself in check and stayed focused. He looked behind him just for a brief second to see how far he was in front of the rest of the bikers. Too bad he didn’t see the grinding rail in front of him. Too bad he could say bye to his bike. But worst of all, too bad he didn’t notice the person right in front of him.

He flipped as his tire endoverended and crashed into the PRO (Ouch) about five feet in front of him. He landed on his left arm, and a sickening metallic crack was heard. Then, every thing went dead silent. He squirmed like a dog being shoved in a bath to avoid any further collisions. He looked at the pro. He was okay and so was everyone else. He searched around to see what had made that sound. That terrible sound. It sounded so bad, like something (Or someone) that is critically damaged. His sight landed upon his bike. It had gotten pretty messed up. The frame had twisted at a ninety-degree angle to the right. The suspension had bottomed out so bad, that the forks had jammed through the sprockets. He was glad that no one else was hurt. He remembered he had brought a spare bike just in case something like this happened. The tournament was paused because the pros couldn’t get hurt. They got up and started to resume the race.


The kid glanced around the audience and saw his biking friends. They had come to cheer him on! He beamed as he felt his courage rush back to him. He closed his eyes. He concentrated on the quietness. He achieved it. Silence. Now he would not be distracted. He opened his eyes and sat on his (New) bike. He cracked his knuckles and he pressed his hands on the handlebar grips. He readied himself to go again.

The race continued as they rushed off in a large trail of dust. The cheers of the crowd ringing through his ears. Everything was so intense. The kid felt so euphoric.