I round the corner fast, head down, legs pumping furiously, my mind on the repetitive turn of the pedals. I know I’m making good time even without checking my watch, because I know the routine of this place. I see the sign hasn’t yet been put out on the pavement at Pirelli’s as I speed passed, and the sun doesn’t hit my face as it often does at this point. It waits behind the crag which towers over the village, ready for its grand entrance.
“At least two minutes faster than yesterday” I think to myself.
My heart leaps as I see the number sixty eight bus pull away from the stop beside the guest house. It’s even better than I thought and I’m on the open straight now, nothing can stop me.
The sun comes out to play. It peers its vibrant head around the crag, hitting me full in the face. The warmth adds to my jubilance. I don’t see the child. I don’t see her face, or her curls, or the wellies she chose just last week. I don’t see her, until my wheel hits her. Then I don’t see anything more.
The crag sighs.
Word Count: 200 words
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction
Photo credit by Al Forbes
To read more stories for this photo prompt visit here