Just trying my hand at a cycling short story, about 200 words.
Jack shuffles his feet and scrunches up his shoulders in an effort to keep out the biting wind-
chilled cold at the bus stop. Eyes down on the bits of leaves and [censored] ends floating endlessly by in
the rain filled gutter, he sees only the wheels of the passing bicycle and the slow rhythmical
movement of the cyclists legs, track-suited with fashion trainers. Neatly turned ankle, pushing
against the wind towards the junction. But his mind is on how long he will wait for the next bus.
Delivery deadlined truck driver talking on the mobile phone passes the cyclist and opportunistically
sweeps left at the stop sign onto the major road. His articulated trailer tightly hugs the kerbside
while the cyclist is swept under the three rear wheels in turn, bike, body, head. One piercing
scream and death in an instant. Even the driver hears the scream over the engine noise and belatedly
checks his left side mirror, dropping the phone as he does so. Jack runs to the junction knowing he
was the last person to see her alive. Unrecognisably mangled body in a reflective jacket. What does
a cyclist have to do to be seen? he wondered despairingly.
Paddy