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Flash Fiction: The Red and Blue Bikes

Updated on November 18, 2015

Two figures waited in the shadows until all lights in the house were out. One served as a lookout while the other climbed up the fence directly into the small garage where two bikes stood side by side.

Joko knew where everything was. He took a small wooden stool and propped it next to the steel gate. Standing on the stool, he hauled the bikes one by one over the gate to the waiting hands of his accomplice.

When the red and blue bikes were safely on the other side of the gate, Joko climbed out of the fence. Each of them took one bike and rode away. They could hardly keep themselves from cheering for a job well done.

It started a month ago when he saw the shiny new bikes behind the tall steel gate. He frequents the subdivision with his old cart buying recycled bottles and old newspapers from house to house.

He could not get those bikes out of his head. He must have them. He could easily sell them at 500 each, or even a thousand each. With that amount, he could stop pushing his cart for days.

He watched the house for weeks. He realized that the red and blue bikes belonged to a young mother and her small son. They went biking together late in the afternoon until early evening. The bikes were parked behind a locked steel gate but he found a way to climb inside and get the bikes out without the need to unlock the gate. He contracted a friend to put his plan into action.

Never mind that he was taking an important possession from a little boy, never mind the angelic face of the boy who would be terribly disappointed to lose his blue bike. Never mind the mother who would feel so bad for her little son.

No, Joko would never be bothered by other people’s circumstances or feelings. In his business, he could not afford to have sentiments like those. He stole from adults and stealing from a little boy was no different. He had to make a living.

He reckoned that the boy’s parents could afford to buy him another one. They had good jobs, he thought. I am poor. It’s not my fault that I can’t get a good job. I have to provide for my family.

He did not take into consideration that perhaps other people worked hard to get good jobs while he spent his time inhaling solvents or getting his girlfriend pregnant instead of spending time in school.

When Joko and his friend got into the highway, they high-fived their success and pedaled like crazy.

Suddenly, a huge truck appeared out of nowhere and plowed into them, crashing their bones. Joko was left with enough breath to feel the agony of death. Faint moans came out of his bleeding mouth as he felt the excruciating weight of the truck when all six wheels rolled over him.

The loud impact of the crash got people running to the scene and the police were called. They saw the dead bodies of the two, bloodied and broken but with eyes wide open like they were face to face with terror when death came.

The crowd swore to the screeching of tires and to the deafening blowing of horns. Some were sure they saw a huge truck but police investigation showed no sign of the presence of any kind of vehicle on the scene. There were no tire tracks nor rubber marks on the road at all.

What puzzled the police was the sight of the two bikes standing next to the dead bodies, undamaged. The little blue bike leaning under the red bike’s handlebars like a baby taking refuge in its mother’s arms.

© 2015 Virgo908

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