“Riding With The Wind” (Flash Fiction)

Three o’clock in the morning.
I mount my bike.
Kick the stand.
Throttle her low.
And ease away
From the station.
Hot day behind me.
Two murders.
A drug bust.
My partner shot.
In the leg.
I envy him.
Six weeks
With pay
In the heat of the summer.
My uniform is hot.
My cycle is cool.
City’s asleep.
Once on the highway
I open her up.
The wind cleanses my body
Empties my mind.
I’m one with my Harley.
Dead bodies and hopheads
Blow past me
On their way to the file room.
Not to my home.
Clear night.
Few cars ahead.
I watch my speed.
I respect the law
So I can enforce the law.
The rumble of my engine
Fractures the air.
I hear nothing.
I lose myself
In the solitude
That comes with the wind.
And the night.
And my tires on the road.
I close my eyes for a second
And luxuriate
In disembodied freedom.
White light on my eyelids.
Two halogen orbs
Bear down on me
At breakneck speed.
I pull to the right.
Head for the exit ramp.
Twin beams
Bar my way.
I fly through the air.
Pain in my chest, arms and legs.
Lifetime images
Kaleidoscope between
Me and the road.
Excrutiating pain
In my head.
White lights replaced
By red ones.
A drunk.
Driving south
On a northbound road.
Screeching tires.
A car stops.
Then another.
People are running.
Shouting.
I jump on my bike.
Kick the stand.
Throw open the throttle.
Blast my siren.
Buleep. Buleep. Buleep.
I must catch the bastard.
Catch the bastard.
Catch the….
“He’s gone.”

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