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i ride my bike to the mall to get a video game but on the way my bike broke and i had to walk to the mall
By chris lugo on 10.30.2014
The tires on the bicycle were flat. I didn’t feel like walking so I took it as an excuse to spend the day at home. I can’t tell if that was a good or bad idea, I’m less productive at home. My mind is more inclined to wander and I’m more likely to procrastinate.
By dan URL on 10.30.2014
He was like the village bicycle. Everyone used him, no one took care of him. Wish he lived in a better village. So sad to see him with a flat tire and bent rim, frayed seat, and chipped paint.
Ah, but what is this. A hand comes into the frame, lifts the bicycle from the gutter where the last rider dumped it, and wheels it off in the direction of not the dump, but home. Not all lost things are hopeless.
By Intuition on 10.30.2014
Two wheels on the asphalt. Legs pumping to the rhythm of the road. Nothing but air and pure humanity to keep muscles working in overtime burning oxygen at a rate faster than the speed of sound.
By Ariana on 10.30.2014
I road my bicycle down the street stopping when i noticed the police and an ambulence at a house. a neighborhood boy came up to me “whats going on?” “a truck crashed into their house.”
By Jada on 10.30.2014
She generally rode her bike to work but today the weather gave little reprieve so it was time to ask father for a ride to work. besides she was closing tonight and he wouldn’t want her out alone after dark, right? of course not.
By feliciadelaawesome URL on 10.30.2014
The bike was green, or at least what was left of the paint was. The color of a South American beetle glass bead or a metal water bottle, the kind used by serious campers. Anna sat gasping on the sidewalk, eyes bouncing between that green and the slash of ed dripping down her leg from the scrape on her knee. It was the shock of red against her pale legs (the blue veins shining through thin skin, bruised calves) that embarrassed her, not her pose half in the gutter, knees bent as if she’d just birthed the bike and this haughty boy swinging one leg over with a grace she envied. He didn’t apologize–she’d remember that forever–but he did offer her a hand up as he said, “You’re not from around here, are you?” Idiot, his tone said. She wanted to push his hand away and stand up on her own, gather some dignity for herself, but her left hip was sore. EVen with his help, she winced putting weight on it.
By Yona on 10.30.2014
I like my bicycle. I have biked two or three miles by myself.
By tyler on 10.30.2014
I sold my bicycle for forty dollars and continued the trek on foot. The man who bought the rusty thing from me was more than generous – he even offered me some lunch since, to him, I appeared so starved. I told him he was already kind enough with my payment, so I found the closest (and of course grungiest) diner I could find on the side of the road to buy myself a burger and a milkshake. Despite the place’s sloppy appearance, the food was delicious, and the waitress who served me was very sweet.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 10.30.2014
There was something about this place that rubbed him the wrong way. It should have been calming the wide open grass the ruined houses further up were almost picturesque. He walked down the worn road passing by an empty playground, a rusted bike’s wheel spun lazily in a circle. It’s squeaking was rhythmic and echoed loudly in the silence. There was no wind
By Loren on 10.30.2014
Hanging there on the wall, next to the copper stained door. A symbol of health and fitness to all who pass but her. She knows that Tower of Pizza dust was caked over just hours before the guests started to arrive.
By Katie S URL on 10.30.2014
fractal taking clacking clinking bicycle thinking. bicycle thinking. bicycle loops and loops and splooges and grasping at thoughts too great for mankind alone.
the bicycle day is made out of color and sound.
By k on 10.30.2014
the bicycle day is made of the way green is gray, scraping away veneers of today when today is this life and life is nice but not all there is; the way mantises pray, or prey, petty hands will not obey your rules today, we pray we prey,
the world today
seen on bicycle day
Every Sunday is a bike friendly day. Families come out to ride together, and it is the relatively meek looking 2 wheeled machines that run the road, not the 4 wheeled monstrosities.
By 1word2wordsredwordblueword on 10.30.2014
The bicycle was scarlet with an ancient, rusting basket hanging from the black handlebars. The girl leaning against it had hair the color of butter knotted in a bun. She didn’t look quite angry, but she didn’t look like she was impressed with me, either. Nobody in this idiotic town was, not after the football game.
By tentwelvefourteen on 10.30.2014
I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike!
By Joey Robert Parks on 10.30.2014
He was born into a poor, the poorest of families in a little village in Sicily. And after his chores, his dreadful, tiring chores, he’d walk into town and ask to ride the red bicycle. And when he rode it, he was the wealthiest man in the village.
By Frank on 10.30.2014
I rode my bicycle all the way to the store. It was quite an achievement after all I had been through. Thankfully i made it!
By rob on 10.30.2014
Riding it is a chore, no thank you. I’d rather walk. I haven’t ridden one in a long while actually, sorry. That’s all I have to say about bicycles. Actually, I have one more thing to say about bicycles; they sometimes have bells. Ring ring.
By Cx on 10.30.2014
I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike! I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my biiiiiiike! I like to ride my biiiiiiike! I like to ride my biiiiiiiiiike! BI-cycle! BI-cycle! BI-cycle.
God, we miss you, Freddie! I hope you are lighting up the stars and universe with your amazing voice and sparkling personality!
By Ayesha_A on 10.30.2014
The rusty old bicycle hadn’t been touched in years. It was leaning against the old shed made of sheet metal. The shed was barely a source of shelter. The foundation was a bunch of rocks arranged in the shape of it. There was one creaky door with a broken window. There wasn’t anything in the shed. There was only the rusty old bicycle.
By nikhil on 10.30.2014
There was suddenly space in my lungs again, feeling the air whistle to all the chambers inside me, cleaning out the dust, as the wheels span to the cadence of my furious pedalling. Faster and faster, but what was waiting for me when I stopped? Would I ever stop? What was chasing me?
By Daisy King on 10.30.2014
I’m streaming down the hill, the wheels of my bike bouncing on the uneven asphalt. The wind rushes in my face, blurring my vision and making my eyes sting. My legs burn from the intense pedaling, but I hardly notice – adrenaline is pulsing through my veins. My throat is burning, but I laugh out loud. The wheels are my wings…I am flying.
By Amalyah on 10.30.2014
I had an old rusty bicycle once. I don’t remember much about it except that it was baby blue – the parts that weren’t rusty orange, and it had a banana seat. Not quite the look I wanted as a 12 year old boy.
By Chadd Nolen on 10.30.2014
Where did you go? You kept me rolling on like the wheels do for the bicycle. Without you, I crumbled. I stopped dead in my tracks…fell to the ground. One minute there and the next you erased yourself, but the memory lingers on which is the worst part of all. Not the stopping, not the fall—it’s just the good times that are keeping me down. But don’t worry, I can replace you with two new wheels—wheels that won’t fail me and wheels that can keep me going when all I want to do is erase myself from the world.
By Theresa on 10.30.2014
It has two wheels. It has a sleek design. It enables you to move wherever you like. It represents freedom. Urban freedom, anyway.
By SoloSlinger on 10.30.2014
Why is it that sometimes, when I put my foot on the floor, it feels like a squishy mess. Now I remember why! All those damn drugs I took a hours ago have me feeling like a flying fuck, and I’m on a #bicycle. But I’m not sure how I’ve not fallen off. This is bullshit! #oneword @oznolem
By Oz Nolem URL on 10.30.2014
a little faster
and i think the plane of the page
and the palm of you face will
look in the same direction of a great white.
i’m sure there is some mechanism
but on days like this
i am days like this
over and over
By Kairn on 10.30.2014
I saw the shiny handlebars through the wrapping paper. No matter how much I was expected to wait to “open” the gift, I couldn’t stand it. My eight year old legs and lack of control took the handlebars and tore senselessly. Sweat pouring down my back inside a down jacket, feet pumping furiously on the pedals, racing around the block unbeknownst to “Santa”.
By Theresa URL on 10.30.2014
i went around slow movements moved with my teeth and chest moved in my clothes and skin and against myself
By Aviv Cohn on 10.30.2014
I had a bicycle as a young boy. I got it as a gift from my grandpa. It was blue. He bought it in Tennessee.
By Jamie Hord on 10.30.2014
Stumbling over the bars of her discarded bicycle, it was all Jaime could do to catch herself before she face-planted gracelessly on the sidewalk. Hands now bare of their protective outer layer, she grumbled her way into Joe’s General, not even looking up long enough to take notice of the new stock girl, Della, who couldn’t have honestly said the same about her.
By S.C. Lovelace on 10.30.2014
They sat in the McDonalds in front of the station for six hours, drinking more coffee than could possibly be healthy. Then she walked out of the station, picked her bicycle out of the racks in front, and rode off. Ohara watched Dave carefully, ready to restrain him if he tried to go after her. Dave barely moved, save for crushing his paper coffee cup in his hand. This was the closest he had been to his daughter in eight months, and it felt like she was further away than ever.
By tonykeyesjapan URL on 10.30.2014
The wheels of time, spinning, cycling, continuously moving forward as we approach our destination. Destination. Destiny. Fate. Our fate. Our end? Or does the cycle continue? Will we ever realize it? What if our journey cuts short? What if we’ve reached it? What happens then?
By Bea on 10.31.2014
I bought a Bicycle with the shop but in a week we play apresent problem , I send to concert
By Renan Araújo on 10.31.2014
i took my bicycle out and took off on the forest road. they say you can never forget how to ride a bike and that was true. it had been 15 years but i felt like i had never stopped biking.
By Anu on 10.31.2014
“He used to bicycle to my house every week, usually at 1 am. It was the summer before my sophmore year of high school, and I can still here the steady hum of the tires against the poorly paved roads and feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath my head as we lay in the rain covered grass staring at the sky. Chatting with the stars. Losing ourselves in ways we never thought we would – in a way I wasn’t ready for. Yes, I remember him, and how he would bike almost an hour just to hold me for a bit,” she sighs as she looks at the photograph in her grandson’s hand of a young girl with brilliant red hair and sparkling blue eyes in the arms of a big guy with lame glasses and jet black hair.
“We said it was true love. Not that it mattered.” she adds as the boy gets the hint and returns the photograph to it’s plastic sleeve in a book long forgotten and completely unremembered.
By Madison on 10.31.2014
A bicycle is a bike that has 3 wheels and people can ride on it. People all over the world have bicycle’s. People give them as gifts and they have so much fun on a bicycle. Thank You for reading what a bicycle is. By Grace Madeline Unger
By Grace on 10.31.2014
I had a bicycle and it was awesome I loved it so much but now I have rollerblades and other stuff but I still have a bicycle. One day I was riding my bicycle and I flipped over my bicycle and hurt my rist, so I was always scared to ride it again, but it turned out that I rode my bicycle again.
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.