Belonging to a childhood

I was asked to write a story about belonging, but i don't think i have accomplished my target.
Let me know what you think, and if you know any good belonging ideas, or stories.
thank you


The hardest part is starting. But as the wheels hit the concrete and my limbs loosen, I become free. It is a freedom which reactivates my senses and resonates with my soul. Weaving, jumping and speeding. I leave an intricate path behind me as if I am weightless.

Autonomously I continue up a fatigued footpath and i cross to the adjacent street. The motionless bike is ageing. I am too. But thirty-five tumultuous years on I still feel juvenile. I transform into a ten-year-old boy, emerging from the claustrophobic cocoon that is adult life. 

I stop, remaining lethargic as the world turns into a blur. It’s not what i remember. All this time I have been too oblivious to realise the irony. The population is increasing exponentially and this urbanising town is thriving with infrastructure. But I am left with nothing. Nothing but a cacophony of sound waves settling unwillingly within my ear canals. It is dreary and dismal, and I am as lonely as I have ever been. The security of local faces has been replaced with the technological stress of the modern world. Do I have a place in a dog-eat-dog town? I’m the living dead of this ghost town?

My route begins the same: speeding down the endless path as I’m a traveller heading down route 69.I take the first exist the smell of fresh bread and the vole to never to eat the persuasive sugary sensation that over flow the shelves but as usual they sing to me the sweet siren song and i give in effortlessly as i crash my bike onto the hard pavement like a sailor losing his ship into the hard brittle rocks. We are memorized by each note. Yet this time isn’t different the sweet siren’s song is unheard of here and I’m able to control my inner desires. No smell of fresh made bread, but of the smell of chimneys coming from the tall towers above. The stampede of marching soldiers in suits loaded with cases all equivalent to each other, no sense of purpose or identity. I move on. 

I encounter a virtually deserted bench which once was embraced by guest. I hear faint melodic fragments being played gracefully by a solitary child sitting on the unaccompanied bench. He is blowing into a brass trumpet. It is this moment of such innocence that my mind goes for a wonder. I discover that while I try so hard to meet society’s needs I abandon those of my own. 

A body of metal, glass and tyres distracts me, enveloping my senses. The monsters the engine is heavy. It accelerates past as exhaust fumes rise up and disperse, creating a toxic sky. I find myself having to follow the movement of the monster; I yearn for its power, its authority. I reluctantly return to the boy on the trumpet. He ends the piece; the final note is filled with fragility. The applause is held.

The moment of silence is over taken by the roar of trucks and the echoing continuous sound of horns. The repetition takes over my every bit of courage to fight the dark shadows.  I seek a shelter. A castle to where i belong. The motionless bike carries my across the abandon footpath and through the forest of tall trees with endless trunks as they stand tall. Looking down at me with irritation. My castle seems smaller the once never ending stair case which once lead me to the highest tower is reached within seconds and no need for a rest half way. I look down from the tower closing my eyes at first holding back from the sinister images i create from the feeling from falling out of the castle where i belonging. The endless drop. I open my eyes and the shock sets in. I can see the sand covered ground with ease, the endless drop is but a fingernail distance. In annoyance i leave the one place i feel as though i belong.

My eyes begin to water, a cold water droplet smears along my check. The tear disorientates me. What is this? The ability to feel unsafe and pain disembarks me from my journey. It takes away the feeling of safety and belonging. I turn to my motionless bike and put my foot on the accelerator. “Let’s get out of here” i cry. The feeling of wind running through my golden locks is end sharp and quickly the peddle falls the ground. Broken.

My journey has come to an end, and this time no coming back. The place i once belonged to has now been over taken by the tall towers protected by the soldiers. I am nothing but another person trying to find a sense of belonging in the new ominous world. 

The End

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