Remember my last bike ride? The other biker coming up behind me? Me subsequently taking out a paver wall coming out of a dark tunnel? The nauseating resulting injury to my forearm?
Yeah, well, I survived. My forearm, two weeks later, has beautifully healed. There's one nasty scab taking its sweet time falling off newly healed forearm. But I wanna tell ya, even I'm surprised at the healing power of my body. A believer in miracles I'm still amazed.
Coming through the tunnel I saw in my rear-view mirror another biker, his light. What I didn't tell you, aside from the fact I didn't want to be in his way, were these little details.
He carried a rifle in his backpack. A nice sized rifle, sticking out above his head. He didn't appear short in stature. So, nice size rifle.
I wanted the story.
I was distracted beyond the initial panic of getting out of his way.
Questions...
Where ya been with that rifle?
Where were you hunting?
What were you hunting?
Something small? Cause you wouldn't be able to pack out anything substantial on that there bike. If it was substantial, would you go back with some type truck or four wheeler to retrieve bounty?
Or did I finally tick off all the wrong people, people in positions of major authority and you were sent to do the deed? All because two unlikely people fell in love?
(Ha! I'm a writer and my imagination is endlessly creative. All based in fact I might add. You can't even begin to imagine.)
I wanted the story.
Even when viewing sickening flesh, I wanted the story. Nauseatingly so.
Missed opportunities.
So, it wasn't just panic causing a wreck. It was curiosity after initial panic. Plain and simple.
And now you know the rest of the story.
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