Creative Writing.
The Gift.
Or:
Hare today, gone tomorrow.
I was ecstatic. It was a warm Christmas morning as my uncle and I crunched over the gravel drive towards the garage. My uncle pulled open the door and flicked on the light, immediately the room was filled with a dusty glow from the single light above. And there it was. Big, blue and beautiful. I knew what I was getting days ago because I went and chose it, but it was still exciting. It was a brand new 125cc Honda trail bike. Long and sleek. It shined like blue lightning in the dim room. I climbed on, my hands sliding over the handle bars as I found the key. I turned it on then placed my foot on the kick-start. I pushed down hard and the bike rumbled to life with a throaty cough as I revved the engine. Exhaust fumes filled the garage and I saw my uncle smile. I pulled on the clutch and slid the bike out of neutral and into first gear. I slowly released the clutch and pulled on the accelerator. The bike roared and then shut off completely. I had stalled.
I was a fast learner. Zooming up and down the front paddock in 3rd gear. I was getting better at starting as well, now I only stalled about half the time. After lunch my uncle said he needed to shift some sprinklers in the back paddock. He asked if I wanted to come along with the new bike. Of course I said yes. About half an hour later we were roaring down the road. My uncle on his dirty red four wheeler and me on the shiny new trail bike. When we arrived at the paddock my uncle sped off up a hill to shift sprinklers. I rode the bike to the end of the paddock and turned around. The ground in front of me looked flat. I revved the bike and took off, flicking through the gears as fast as I could. 40, 50, 55, 60.faster and faster over ground the looked flat but was actually very bumpy. But still I went faster; urging the bike on with my mind till it couldn’t go an faster. Then I heard a thud. The bike jerked. Then I saw it. A ball of brown fur shot up over the handle bars and hit me in the chest and fell onto my lap. It was a hare. It dug its claws into my leg through my jeans. I never looked down. The paddock was full of hazards that I had to avoid. Finally after struggling and squirming the hare relinquished its hold on my leg. It slid off my lap onto the ground. I looked down to see if it was all right. I saw it dart away into the grass. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I remembered I was hurtling at breakneck speeds towards a concrete trough. I broke hard; the bike stalled and fell on its side. I came off painfully. I slowly stood up and looked around. My uncle was nowhere in sight. Typical. My first real crash and he missed it. I limped over to the fallen bike and pulled it up. I circled it, looking for damage. There was nothing except for a long streak of fur up the front mudguard. When my uncle got back I re-mounted the bike, started it, stalled, started it a second time and drove home.
The next day my grandpa told me that when he was in the back paddock he had seen a hare with a horribly broken leg that flapped at its side when it ran. My grandpa has a pretty weird sense of humour and I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. I don’t think he was.
Or:
Hare today, gone tomorrow.
I was ecstatic. It was a warm Christmas morning as my uncle and I crunched over the gravel drive towards the garage. My uncle pulled open the door and flicked on the light, immediately the room was filled with a dusty glow from the single light above. And there it was. Big, blue and beautiful. I knew what I was getting days ago because I went and chose it, but it was still exciting. It was a brand new 125cc Honda trail bike. Long and sleek. It shined like blue lightning in the dim room. I climbed on, my hands sliding over the handle bars as I found the key. I turned it on then placed my foot on the kick-start. I pushed down hard and the bike rumbled to life with a throaty cough as I revved the engine. Exhaust fumes filled the garage and I saw my uncle smile. I pulled on the clutch and slid the bike out of neutral and into first gear. I slowly released the clutch and pulled on the accelerator. The bike roared and then shut off completely. I had stalled.
I was a fast learner. Zooming up and down the front paddock in 3rd gear. I was getting better at starting as well, now I only stalled about half the time. After lunch my uncle said he needed to shift some sprinklers in the back paddock. He asked if I wanted to come along with the new bike. Of course I said yes. About half an hour later we were roaring down the road. My uncle on his dirty red four wheeler and me on the shiny new trail bike. When we arrived at the paddock my uncle sped off up a hill to shift sprinklers. I rode the bike to the end of the paddock and turned around. The ground in front of me looked flat. I revved the bike and took off, flicking through the gears as fast as I could. 40, 50, 55, 60.faster and faster over ground the looked flat but was actually very bumpy. But still I went faster; urging the bike on with my mind till it couldn’t go an faster. Then I heard a thud. The bike jerked. Then I saw it. A ball of brown fur shot up over the handle bars and hit me in the chest and fell onto my lap. It was a hare. It dug its claws into my leg through my jeans. I never looked down. The paddock was full of hazards that I had to avoid. Finally after struggling and squirming the hare relinquished its hold on my leg. It slid off my lap onto the ground. I looked down to see if it was all right. I saw it dart away into the grass. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I remembered I was hurtling at breakneck speeds towards a concrete trough. I broke hard; the bike stalled and fell on its side. I came off painfully. I slowly stood up and looked around. My uncle was nowhere in sight. Typical. My first real crash and he missed it. I limped over to the fallen bike and pulled it up. I circled it, looking for damage. There was nothing except for a long streak of fur up the front mudguard. When my uncle got back I re-mounted the bike, started it, stalled, started it a second time and drove home.
The next day my grandpa told me that when he was in the back paddock he had seen a hare with a horribly broken leg that flapped at its side when it ran. My grandpa has a pretty weird sense of humour and I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. I don’t think he was.
