Relief

I am on a bike. You are a hill. You started with a deep curve; you were easy to fall into. The wind brushing past my face, twirling my hair around it’s fingers. A distant sun kissing my cheeks and shoulders, I rode into you. But then you change. Instead of streaming downward, I am peddling up. At first I barely notice, but slowly I peddle harder. My thighs tighten, and sweat is falling from my back. The sun is no longer caressing from afar, but heavily sitting on my neck. Sweat is trickling down from my hair, mixing it’s salty flavor with the sweet taste of tears. My lungs are screaming, thirsty for more oxygen. I can’t stop. There is no other way but up, and harder and harder I push. I desperately search for your top, where the pain will stop and the ease of falling will return. You have no top. You continue on as a hill forever, only getting increasingly steep. If I peddle long enough, I will fall off your edge, backwards, and land thousands of feet below on my back. So finally, I stop. I get off my bike, and I lay it down. I sit down, and look to the sky. A slight breeze dries my face, and I am happy

Reviews

[Greg G]

I really like how sparse this piece is written. The short sentence structure, and intentional absence of detail make it read more like prose. There's enough description to give the reader an idea of what is going on, but enough freedom to force the reader to fill in the gaps. I enjoy this style of writing.

[Linda]

Hooked, want more xx