Crashed
George slammed the brakes. His tires where squealing. But it was too late. His pick-up truck crashed into the back of the bicycle. The boy was thrown off his bike. His body turned in the air once before crashing on the hard cement chest first. George’s body tightened up immediately. He squeezed the steering wheel and looked back as soon as his car had stopped. He was relieved to see the boy pull his knees towards his chest. At least he wasn’t dead.
The sun had set just 15 minutes ago so darkness was beginning to fall. George stepped out of his car monitoring the surroundings. No witnesses meant he could do a hit and run. There was no one to be seen. He heard the boy moaning. It reminded him of his son. Even though he hadn’t spoken his son for the past four years, it kept him from running away from the scene. He grabbed two empty cans of beer and one still half full out of his car. He walked to the nearest sewer opening to dump the cans. After getting rid of this, he went to the boy.
“Are,…, are you okay?” he asked.
“Are you fucking kidding me, you asshole!” He was slowly standing up while grabbing his chest. As soon as he tried to stretch he made a face and went back to a slouched posture.
“You had no lights on, that’s why I saw you too late.” George had deepened his voice. He did not like the kid’s attitude.
“Whatever,” the boy replied. He ran to his bicycle while still bending over and holding his…
