Criers Mansion

The Arrival

Tired. Very tired. But not tired enough. Pedaling. Lots of pedaling. But not enough pedaling.

My bike and I finally reached the top of the hill. I kicked down the stand and the bike let out this gust of air, happy to be released of it's duties.

The shadow of Criers Mansion surrounded me as I stared at the front door. I turned around and grabbed my bag by the left shoulder strap and yanked at it, apparently my backpack was stuck in a loose screw. I used both my hands this time with one hand for each of the straps and my foot up against the body of the bike. I counted down from three in my head. One Two Three! The sounds I heard next was the ripping of fabric, and tumbling valuables.