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random_ficceryTitle: A Nice Bike Ride
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,343
Warnings: Silliness, Off-the-cuff ficcery, Requires belief suspenders.
Original Prompt: "A man goes for a bike ride. Nothing fancy, no gimmicks, no twists or turns, nothing supernatural or crazy. A man goes for a bike ride." - Writing-prompt-s
Summary: A man goes for a bike ride, just as the prompt says, and he tries very hard to avoid anything but riding his bike. It isn't easy.
Author's Notes: This isn't exactly to the prompt's specs, but the idea amused me and I had fun writing it, so I'mma post it anyway. Hope some of you enjoy it, too.
It was a gorgeous spring day after a long, cold, rainy winter. Max stood in front of his living room window looking out at the newly leafy trees and the grass, the birds flitting about, and even a few squirrels scampering by, thinking it was a perfect day for a bike ride. Yes. He would do it. Ride his bike around—nothing more complicated, nothing less—until he was pleasantly tired. And then have a nice lunch. It was a plan.
Max whistled as he crouched down to unlock his bicycle, safe enough chained to the metal railing around the front porch, though he was always careful to run the chain through both wheels—it was a nice neighborhood, but people were, unfortunately, people.
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision as he was looping the chain around the post under the seat, making him look up as he closed the lock through the last links at either end of the chain.
A tall figure in what looked like archaic monk’s robes stood just beyond the last of the three steps down to the front walk. The murky inside of the drawn-forward hood hid all but the most vague impression of whatever features were to be found on the person’s face. A deep, almost stereotypically sepulchral voice intoned, “Maximillian Bayard, you are the ch—”
“Nope,” Max interrupted crisply. “I’m not the anything. No, thanks, not interested.”
For almost twenty seconds the robed person—who sounded male, whatever their preferred gender—was silent in obvious surprise, but then said, “It does not matter whether you are interested or not. The fact remains, you—”
“No, in fact, since I’m a being with free will, what I’m interested in does matter. No. Not onboard with whatever you’re selling or promoting. I’m busy.” Max continued speaking as he started rolling his bike off the porch, his approach implicitly forcing the robed person to step back, and Max walked on past the melodramatic whoever-it-was before throwing a leg over the bike. “Have a nice day.”
“But you can’t… how…?” Fading off in confusion, the robed figure didn’t chase Max, but the opening of the hood was aimed toward Max as he rode on down the street.
It was a beautiful day, the first in a while, and Max was going to enjoy it. Everything else could wait.
Birds tweeted and chirped, the breeze fluttered Max’s brown hair like the playful fingers of a friend, and a few neighbors waved and/or smiled at him as he went by. It was just as nice as he’d anticipated.
As Max rounded the corner and headed along the street that would take him to the nearest park, he had an odd feeling, as if he had forgotten something, or there was something amiss that he just hadn’t noticed. Just about the time he started to be fully aware of the feeling, he began to hear music. Not from any one direction, but swelling slowly into being all around him. The twittering birds and other ordinary sounds nearby came to a halt as the music grew louder. It was the ominous orchestral type of music, all minor chords and steadily driving violins with swelling wind instruments, and then a choir of voices started singing—or, really, more like chanting—in Latin. Max sighed heavily, hanging his head as he coasted a bit, and then lifted his head and said in the sort of stern voice one might use to chastise an unruly dog, “Knock it off! None of that, it’s not going to work!”
The music stopped after his first sentence, as if cut off with a knife. Max shook his head and pedaled a little more. Softly, almost unnoticeable at first, the violins started to swell into their minor keys of warning.
Huffing out a shorter, sharper growling sigh, Max almost shouted, “I’m serious, stop it! No! Find someone else! I’m not participating! Go away!”
The music stopped again. This time, even after several more minutes, it remained silent. The birdsong returned, along with the nice breeze ruffling the trees’ newly green branches and Max’s hair. A dog barked excitedly in the distance, sounding as if it was probably chasing a ball or having some kind of fun. The tension that had been growing previously dissipated completely. Max’s pleasant little smile returned.
The park was beautiful.
Max rolled to a stop just within the open gates, looking across at the winding bike paths and pedestrian paths crossing and curving around the grassy swaths in between. Stands of trees provided shade for picnic tables and benches, as well as lining the paths and encircling a large sand-strewn area with swing sets and monkey-bars in bright, cheery colors. Ducks paddled in an irregularly shaped pond, honking and quacking at a family standing near the edge of the water throwing either breadcrumbs or birdseed for the birds to waddle out of the water and eat. On the far side of the park was a larger grassy area where at least four dogs ran around with their owners, chasing balls, Frisbees, or each other, with lots of laughter and encouraging shouts.
Taking a deep breath, Max’s smile grew as he started peddling again, following the bike path at a slow pace, just enjoying the park—like all the other people had obviously come to do—and the lovely spring weather.
Maybe not the last thing, but nearly the last thing Max expected was to have a huge man in gleamingly dark armor and a huge sword leap ponderously into his path with a cry of, “We meet at last!”
“Oh, no, we don’t,” Max replied testily, steering around the dark knight without stopping.
“Where are you going? You must fight me!” the dark knight shouted after Max, sounding torn between outrage and confusion.
“Riding my bike,” Max called back over his shoulder. “I must do nothing of the kind.”
“Coward!” bellowed the disappointed, angry warrior.
“Whatever!” shouted Max, flipping him off before turning the bend in the bike path.
Rolling his eyes, Max pedaled a little faster for a few minutes, glancing back just once to be sure the big lummox wasn’t following him. Good, no sign of pursuit.
A fresh breeze carried the smell of budding flowers and moisture, bringing Max to inhale more deeply several times, his smile slowly returning. It felt good to just roll along, pedaling enough to keep moving, but not working too hard at it, enjoying both the spring sunshine and the others doing the same.
For a time, Max just followed the bike path, smiling serenely at those who crossed his path. When he began to feel a little hungry, as well as a little tired, Max followed the last curve in the bike path toward the gates through which he’d entered. It wasn’t very far back to his own street, but it was long enough to plan what he was going to make himself for lunch. He had all the makings of a nice sandwich and, if he wasn’t mistaken, there were still some potato chips left, as well as some of the lemonade he’d made the day before. Easy peasy.
Once home, Max locked up his bike, stretching a bit with a good-natured groan before unlocking his door and going inside. Aside from a few annoyances, it had been a lovely bike ride.
Strolling into the kitchen, already anticipating making his hearty sandwich, looking forward to the cool tartness of the lemonade and the salty crunch of the chips, Max opened the refrigerator door.
Only to be met with a nearly blinding burst of strange greenish light and a booming voice. “BEHOLD! YOU ARE WITNESS TO THE COMING OF HE WHO WAS FORETOLD! BOW DOWN TO—”
Max slammed the fridge door and stood there, still gripping the handle for a long moment, head hanging as a huge sigh escaped him. “Fine, pizza delivery it is,” he muttered dryly as he dug out his mobile phone and then walked out of the kitchen without looking back.
~~~
.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,343
Warnings: Silliness, Off-the-cuff ficcery, Requires belief suspenders.
Original Prompt: "A man goes for a bike ride. Nothing fancy, no gimmicks, no twists or turns, nothing supernatural or crazy. A man goes for a bike ride." - Writing-prompt-s
Summary: A man goes for a bike ride, just as the prompt says, and he tries very hard to avoid anything but riding his bike. It isn't easy.
Author's Notes: This isn't exactly to the prompt's specs, but the idea amused me and I had fun writing it, so I'mma post it anyway. Hope some of you enjoy it, too.
It was a gorgeous spring day after a long, cold, rainy winter. Max stood in front of his living room window looking out at the newly leafy trees and the grass, the birds flitting about, and even a few squirrels scampering by, thinking it was a perfect day for a bike ride. Yes. He would do it. Ride his bike around—nothing more complicated, nothing less—until he was pleasantly tired. And then have a nice lunch. It was a plan.
Max whistled as he crouched down to unlock his bicycle, safe enough chained to the metal railing around the front porch, though he was always careful to run the chain through both wheels—it was a nice neighborhood, but people were, unfortunately, people.
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision as he was looping the chain around the post under the seat, making him look up as he closed the lock through the last links at either end of the chain.
A tall figure in what looked like archaic monk’s robes stood just beyond the last of the three steps down to the front walk. The murky inside of the drawn-forward hood hid all but the most vague impression of whatever features were to be found on the person’s face. A deep, almost stereotypically sepulchral voice intoned, “Maximillian Bayard, you are the ch—”
“Nope,” Max interrupted crisply. “I’m not the anything. No, thanks, not interested.”
For almost twenty seconds the robed person—who sounded male, whatever their preferred gender—was silent in obvious surprise, but then said, “It does not matter whether you are interested or not. The fact remains, you—”
“No, in fact, since I’m a being with free will, what I’m interested in does matter. No. Not onboard with whatever you’re selling or promoting. I’m busy.” Max continued speaking as he started rolling his bike off the porch, his approach implicitly forcing the robed person to step back, and Max walked on past the melodramatic whoever-it-was before throwing a leg over the bike. “Have a nice day.”
“But you can’t… how…?” Fading off in confusion, the robed figure didn’t chase Max, but the opening of the hood was aimed toward Max as he rode on down the street.
It was a beautiful day, the first in a while, and Max was going to enjoy it. Everything else could wait.
Birds tweeted and chirped, the breeze fluttered Max’s brown hair like the playful fingers of a friend, and a few neighbors waved and/or smiled at him as he went by. It was just as nice as he’d anticipated.
As Max rounded the corner and headed along the street that would take him to the nearest park, he had an odd feeling, as if he had forgotten something, or there was something amiss that he just hadn’t noticed. Just about the time he started to be fully aware of the feeling, he began to hear music. Not from any one direction, but swelling slowly into being all around him. The twittering birds and other ordinary sounds nearby came to a halt as the music grew louder. It was the ominous orchestral type of music, all minor chords and steadily driving violins with swelling wind instruments, and then a choir of voices started singing—or, really, more like chanting—in Latin. Max sighed heavily, hanging his head as he coasted a bit, and then lifted his head and said in the sort of stern voice one might use to chastise an unruly dog, “Knock it off! None of that, it’s not going to work!”
The music stopped after his first sentence, as if cut off with a knife. Max shook his head and pedaled a little more. Softly, almost unnoticeable at first, the violins started to swell into their minor keys of warning.
Huffing out a shorter, sharper growling sigh, Max almost shouted, “I’m serious, stop it! No! Find someone else! I’m not participating! Go away!”
The music stopped again. This time, even after several more minutes, it remained silent. The birdsong returned, along with the nice breeze ruffling the trees’ newly green branches and Max’s hair. A dog barked excitedly in the distance, sounding as if it was probably chasing a ball or having some kind of fun. The tension that had been growing previously dissipated completely. Max’s pleasant little smile returned.
The park was beautiful.
Max rolled to a stop just within the open gates, looking across at the winding bike paths and pedestrian paths crossing and curving around the grassy swaths in between. Stands of trees provided shade for picnic tables and benches, as well as lining the paths and encircling a large sand-strewn area with swing sets and monkey-bars in bright, cheery colors. Ducks paddled in an irregularly shaped pond, honking and quacking at a family standing near the edge of the water throwing either breadcrumbs or birdseed for the birds to waddle out of the water and eat. On the far side of the park was a larger grassy area where at least four dogs ran around with their owners, chasing balls, Frisbees, or each other, with lots of laughter and encouraging shouts.
Taking a deep breath, Max’s smile grew as he started peddling again, following the bike path at a slow pace, just enjoying the park—like all the other people had obviously come to do—and the lovely spring weather.
Maybe not the last thing, but nearly the last thing Max expected was to have a huge man in gleamingly dark armor and a huge sword leap ponderously into his path with a cry of, “We meet at last!”
“Oh, no, we don’t,” Max replied testily, steering around the dark knight without stopping.
“Where are you going? You must fight me!” the dark knight shouted after Max, sounding torn between outrage and confusion.
“Riding my bike,” Max called back over his shoulder. “I must do nothing of the kind.”
“Coward!” bellowed the disappointed, angry warrior.
“Whatever!” shouted Max, flipping him off before turning the bend in the bike path.
Rolling his eyes, Max pedaled a little faster for a few minutes, glancing back just once to be sure the big lummox wasn’t following him. Good, no sign of pursuit.
A fresh breeze carried the smell of budding flowers and moisture, bringing Max to inhale more deeply several times, his smile slowly returning. It felt good to just roll along, pedaling enough to keep moving, but not working too hard at it, enjoying both the spring sunshine and the others doing the same.
For a time, Max just followed the bike path, smiling serenely at those who crossed his path. When he began to feel a little hungry, as well as a little tired, Max followed the last curve in the bike path toward the gates through which he’d entered. It wasn’t very far back to his own street, but it was long enough to plan what he was going to make himself for lunch. He had all the makings of a nice sandwich and, if he wasn’t mistaken, there were still some potato chips left, as well as some of the lemonade he’d made the day before. Easy peasy.
Once home, Max locked up his bike, stretching a bit with a good-natured groan before unlocking his door and going inside. Aside from a few annoyances, it had been a lovely bike ride.
Strolling into the kitchen, already anticipating making his hearty sandwich, looking forward to the cool tartness of the lemonade and the salty crunch of the chips, Max opened the refrigerator door.
Only to be met with a nearly blinding burst of strange greenish light and a booming voice. “BEHOLD! YOU ARE WITNESS TO THE COMING OF HE WHO WAS FORETOLD! BOW DOWN TO—”
Max slammed the fridge door and stood there, still gripping the handle for a long moment, head hanging as a huge sigh escaped him. “Fine, pizza delivery it is,” he muttered dryly as he dug out his mobile phone and then walked out of the kitchen without looking back.
~~~
.
