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Rated: E · Fiction · Comedy · #2312422
How I fought a Road Bully
I was riding my bike Yamaha 175cc, a light bike for a woman, which gave me speed, to get from one place to the other. Tied on the saddle behind me were all my earthly goods, a few pairs of shorts, jeans, and T-shirts.

I carried my knapsack on my back, where documents about my existence were neatly packed in plastic covers. The highways seemed endless in front of me, and I was thinking about how far I had to go.

I had a wedding to attend; unfortunately, it was my bratty sister, who always seemed to catch good-looking men. This time round somebody told me her man looked like a young John Cougar Mellencamp. The last one looked like an advertisement for a brand of cigarette. Unfortunately, he only looked like the model, didn’t have a job, and lived off her, much to her chagrin. I think that one lasted all of two years.

I shook my helmeted head, looking towards the far horizon, wishing the road would end. It was then that I saw another biker pass me by. He rode a Harley, black and mean with its high handlebars. Some fluffy stuff was hanging on the throttle, but he went too fast and I could not make out what it was. I was not particularly keen to catch up with the characters as they were known to be mean, especially to women.

Oblivious to my surroundings I concentrated on the road, at times shifting around as my back was telling me to stop. Rounding on a curve, suddenly, I saw the biker lying on the road, with his bike in the ditch. I stopped immediately as a reflection action. I got up off my bike and went to attend to him.

He was lying there very still, the red bandana still tied around his head. His tattooed chest was showing, and blood oozed out of it.

I looked closer at his face to see whether he was still alive and then that was when I regretted my action. His hands shot out and got me by my jacket collar. I managed a small squeak before I felt my chest constrict as he was throttling me.

“Shuddup bitch or you die, I want your bike..” he said gutturally. He looked drunk or high on drugs.

I nodded or tried to and I felt his grip loosening. He was reaching out for something behind him, and to my horror, it was a gun. My self-survival instinct kicked in. If I had to die, I would do so fighting I thought, and lunged at him.

He was taken by surprise as one would think another would pull away. He pushed me and I sprawled on my back. He cursed and started to kick me. I could feel my ribs suffering as he did.
He then went down on his knee and started to throttle me again, and in my desperation, I grabbed him and held him to me instead. I felt his naked chest and with all my might I sank my teeth into it. The blood that spurted into my mouth was disgustingly salty.

He screamed and loosened his grip on my throat, and I pushed him with all my might. He fell on his back clutching his chest, and his head hit the asphalt. He fainted.

While he was unconscious, I dragged him to the curb and near the ditch. He was very heavy, three times bigger than me, but desperation gave adrenalin a boost.

After several minutes I managed to get him near his bike, which looked like a dog taking a drink from the ditch, and tied him to the wheel with a handcuff that was amazingly available with a lot of other curious stuff in his saddlebag. I figured it would take him a while to get himself free and try to chase me for my bike again.

As I was about to leave, I looked at his handlebars, and my jaw dropped in amazement. The thing hanging there was a Hello Kitty toy on a chain. The pair of white cats with a dress and ribbons on its head adorning the handlebars looked almost angelic but lent a grotesque air to the huge bike. I did not look back as I roared off.

The wedding went well, so I heard. I spent it at the hospital and stayed for several days. I had two cracked ribs that were extremely painful. I got a visit from my newly wedded sister who came with her husband and my mother who didn't look too pleased.-ends
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