Neither Triumph Nor Success - Short Story

The gaping mouths of the onlookers below told me that I was doing what I should. The crisp wind brushed my face and lifted my arms into the air. I executed the pose perfectly and with ease. This I knew by the change of expression and applause from the crowd.

The bikes hard rubber handles firmly in my grip told me that I was ready to land. I stood on the pedals and did not sit on the seat, as that could result in injury. The bike hit the ground hard, and bounced off. I swung the bike sideways and skidded to a halt at the bottom of the hill. The road was rough, and you could see the shimmer a couple of inches off the top of the hill, where the heat was rising.

The crowd applauded once more, I could see arms waving in the air of people I never knew.

The feeling wasn’t of triumph, or success, it was of a simple wash of warmth. It was just then that I felt my stomach drop, like a stone being thrown into a stream and it sinking down into the depths. A silhouette of a person walking towards me, my father, an important looking sturdy man. The expression on his face let me know straight away that he was on the border of clouting me. I wasn’t supposed to be here………