Amanita: Poison Shot

Chapter 4: The Red Bike

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Thursday, May 18

Almost a week after my annual check-up, I had gotten over what Uriel had said.

Like getting over the flu, I needed time to rest. He was an arsehole. I promised myself that, if such a situation arose again, I would stand up for myself. I was proud of what I loved doing, and I wasn't willing to change who I was just to fulfil a stupid stereotype.

The same went for the doctors in the BioSolutions Centre. I didn't want a boyfriend or a husband. I'd find a way around it.

I sighed with a carefree attitude as I stared at the clear sky above my head. That Thursday was a lovely sunny day in May.

Soon after lunch, my father had gone back to work at the chocolate factory. He crafted bonbons for filthy-rich clones. Daniel had homework to do and stayed home. I had to go back to work at the cosmetic surgery clinic. So, I had left him alone at home, assuming that Chloé would come around later and that they wouldn't be doing any homework at all.

While I was waiting at the bus stop, I could enjoy a moment of bliss while the sun was shining brightly that early afternoon. Spring was turning into summer. Climate change had lengthened summer, and now it went from May to November. Nature had gone stark-raving mad.

I was wearing my favourite skin-tight blue jeans and a banana yellow T-shirt, fitted around the waist. I wore second-hand clothes since I couldn't afford to buy new stuff. I didn't wear makeup either. I preferred a more natural look, anyway.

The dandelions were growing nice and tall on either side of the road. It was a godforsaken, lonesome road, good old Dam Road, the one that separated my neighbourhood, the Dam, and the Mill neighbourhood, located north.

The sweet perfume of cypress trees, hyperactive due to that mad weather, was filling the air around me, overwhelming the presence of oxygen.

My old high school wasn't far from Dam Road and my bus stop, so I could listen to some students preparing the concert for prom night, which would take place in a few weeks. They were practising Flower Duet, from Lakmé on a violin and a cello. I remember that the music room used to feel extremely hot by that time of year. Naturally, they had left the windows open.

As the song was reaching its catharsis, I got goosebumps on my arms and neck. I was happy by enjoying such simple pleasures, despite how bleak my life would be in a year. My hands started to shake, though. I needed a contingency plan.

A nervous sigh escaped my lips. I shouldn't let the sound of my own wheels drive me crazy. I should focus on the present.

A noise I knew well made my mind come to a halt. It was a motorbike's engine. Dam road was usually deserted at that hour. My bus was the only vehicle due to come. I instinctively turned my head towards the sound, feeling it soothing my soul. Its bee-like, buzzing sound triggered a smile on my face.

I got hypnotised by the roaring music and the sight of that motorbike as I stared at it in the distance. The road was long and straight, and the heat was causing an optical illusion. It created a waving image, making me think that the bike was cutting the air and the asphalt in its wake. It was a lovely, metallic-red bike, shiny and attractive like an apple.

Out of the blue, the bike coughed with roughness, and smoke came out of it. It jolted a couple of times. The rider abruptly stopped when he was at a thirty-foot distance from the bus stop because the engine was in agony.

His black boots landed on the ground with roughness. The rider was a well-built guy. He stopped the engine and got off the bike. He took off his helmet, which was black, like his jeans and T-shirt. He was my age, I guessed. The soft, warm breeze combed his light-brown hair with some hues of dark blond. It was long enough to almost reach his shoulders with its untameable waves.