This is a Story about Neal

Things were about to change
It was the first day of the last week of school
And Neal was riding his bike to the bus stop

Neal rode a ridiculously tiny bike
That required him to peddle
At least 12 times more than the average cyclist
But at this point he was peddling
At an average speed
This meant in turn that he was travelling
Stupidly slow
So slow that you may be forgiven for thinking that
He had stopped completely apart from his legs
That maybe his chain had fallen off
And he had not noticed
Or he was on the side of the road with an exercise bike

That maybe he had got up this morning
And in the blur of the morning
Half still enjoying a dream
Half aware that the day must begin
He had gone into the garage and taken
What Neal thought was his trusty bicycle
But what was in fact his grandmothers old exercise bike
And dragged it out onto the side of the road
And begun the arduous journey to school

But no Neal wasn’t on a an exercise bike
He was just riding a really fruitless bike
Fruitless in terms of efficient travel
But in regards to style
This was a very fruity bike
Neal and his Dad had biult it themselves
From old bikes scavenged from hard rubbish
And the tip
Every part had a story to tell
But Grease and oil soon fixed that

While Neal was riding he was humming to himself
He was writing a song in his head
He relished these times that he had on his own
When he could turn off the world
And journey into the depths of his imagination
Today was a melancholy love song
Most days where melancholy love songs

Neal looked down at his watch
He had three minutes before the bus left
And he knew that he was further than a comfortable
Three minutes riding
He quickly stood up on his peddles
And he rode like the wind
Well at least his legs moved like the wind
And his bike travelled at the speed of a
Jogging Mule

With the wind blowing through the air holes in his helmet
And inturn slightly blowing through his hair
He felt free
And faster than he had ever attempted
He rounded the last corner onto the straight
That led up to his bus stop
And in the distance he could see the bus
Starting to pull away from the curb
He threw his hands into the air
In a desperate attempt to stop the bus
And the bike wobbled underneath him
And what happened next was a complete blur

He picked himself off the side of the road
And looked up just in time to see a glimpse
Of the bus as it turned the corner
On its way to school
Without him.