Mountain Biking
By Isabella
Trembling with fear, I walk my bike to the start of the track. I head to the back of the group. I wait for the signal to go. I’m off. Dust covers my face. The sky seems to aim its light straight at me, making me sweat.
Cackling loudly, the rocks make me wobble. The gorse sniggers under its breath, pointing its razor claws. The pine trees rustle in the light wind. I was entering the forest.
A sign that said ‘easy as track’ appeared. I turned to the right, where the track started. I walked my bike down carefully. The slope beckoned me. The root lifted up further as I came towards it. I didn’t fall off, but it frightened me.
I came cycling towards a fast flowing stream. The track sloped, eating up my confidence. Piece by piece. The corner tips me. I had fallen. Ella keeps cycling. She hasn't realised I fell off. I call her name. She doesn't hear me. I sit there, alone. A tear rolls down my cheek. Nothing happens. Alone.
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