Take flight

She loved her bicycle. The rusty pink exterior. The thick rubber tires. The basket, woven with daisies from three summers ago, the summer of her first love. It was her purpose, her set of brilliant angel wings. With every push of the petal she flew higher, up up and away.

It was dark and misting, the droplets settling on her skin. She knew those two factors were a dangerous combination, but she lived for danger. There was a thrill to taking a risk, especially one in disguise.

And it was so beautiful. Quiet. Away from the screams.

More shouldn'ts. She shouldn't have been biking in the middle of the road, against the ghost that the flow of traffic had left. She shouldn't have been looking at the stars, bright and twinkling, because she didn't see the headlights, bright and not-so-twinkly.

As she slammed against the car's front, blunt force rattling her organs, her last thought was bittersweet, sad with a hint of a smile.

She wouldn't be coming home.