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Evel
CMF Fiction - Short Story
By Tyler Payne
Posted on Saturday, September 4 at 5:00 p.m.
You always wanted to be able to fly. You would fly high above the town and see beyond the hills in
all directions. You would swoop down on the bullies at the playground, and they would fall back in
awe. You would play basketball like no other boy had ever played the game. You would be a hero.
You would fly far, far away from your home. You would see new places, with new people and new
adventures. You would fly back home in time for dinner. You would be very, very happy.
You told your mother that you wished you could fly, and you asked her what you could do to be like
Superman. She sat down on your bed, tucked you in, and told you that if you prayed and if you
were a good boy, anything was possible.
That night, you prayed. You shut your eyes so tight that you saw stars, and you clenched your
hands together with such passion that they ached. You prayed for hours.
You told your mother the next night that you had prayed, but God didn't speak back to you. She
smiled and told you that God doesn’t usually talk to people directly, but that she was sure he had
heard you. If you kept praying and if you were a good boy, anything was possible.
You prayed every night, and you were a very good boy. You set the table as you had been taught.
You helped with the dishes without being asked. You were nice to your brother and your sister,
even when nobody was looking. You did what you mother and father told you to do, and you didn’t
complain.
You watched TV with your father one Saturday night before bedtime, and you saw a man named
Evel sail over a whole line of buses on his motorcycle. He could fly!
That night you went to bed at your bedtime without complaining, and again you prayed. You prayed
until your head hurt and your mind was numb. You prayed until sleep arrived to lift you from your
toil.
The next morning you awoke early with a tingle of excitement usually reserved for Saturday morning
cartoons or Christmas. You got dressed and hurried downstairs. Your mother and father were
already awake and were at the kitchen table, reading the Sunday newspaper and sipping their
coffee. They smiled and asked why you were out of bed so early. You told them that you wanted to
go outside. They laughed and told you to have fun, but to be sure to stay in the yard.
You went to the bottom of the front deck stairs and grabbed your trusty green and white Coast to
Coast tricycle. You carried it up the stairs and crawled up on the seat, your legs resting firmly on the
pedals below you. You stared down the length of the deck and into the horizon where the wood
ended and the sky began.
You clasped your hands together one last time and bowed your head. You thanked God. You
opened your eyes, and focused on the flight path. You began to pedal as hard as your legs could
muster. The wheels of your tricycle sang loudly on the wooden boards, the noise growing louder as
your speed increased.
Inside the house, your mother and father heard the strange sound. They turned to the sliding glass
door just in time to see you and your little green and white Coast to Coast tricycle speed by. They
rushed after you.
Your legs were now pumping at a furious pace, pistons fueled by passion. The end of the deck was
drawing near, and everything was so clear that you were seeing it in slow motion. The end of the
deck was now below you, and the horizon was before you. You leaned back slightly to capture the
angle of ascent that Evel had shown you--that God had shown you. The sound of wheels on wood
fell silent as you flew from the end of the deck. Behind you, you could now hear your mother and
father yelling at you to stop. They didn’t understand. God had not spoken to them.
You then realized that things were going terribly wrong. You and your tricycle plummeted to the
ground far below. Your back wheels landed first, and then your front wheel slammed into the
ground, throwing your face into the handlebars. You saw a flash of bright light, and then felt a
shooting pain. You were cloaked in silence. You touched your forehead with your hand and felt
something warm. You looked at your fingers and saw blood. You screamed, tears rolling down your
face.
Your mother and father rushed to you, your father asking you what in the hell you were doing and
your mother telling you that it was just a little bump on the head. You continued to scream. Your
father told you that it wasn’t that bad and to toughen up. Your cries always made him
uncomfortable. Your mother picked you up to take you back inside the house. You continued to
scream.
They didn’t understand. You weren’t screaming because of the pain. You were screaming in anger.
You were screaming at God.
After that day, you quit talking to God. Your mother and father still took you to church, but you
were never really present. You knew the mass by heart-–you knew exactly how many minutes the
completion of each part of the service preceded the blessed end of the ceremony.
You grew up to be a successful and ambitious young high school man. You had the best grades,
you were the best athlete, and you had the best girlfriends. Your mother and father were very
proud.
You went to college and studied a little, played a lot, and maintained nearly perfect grades. You were
the president of your fraternity, you belonged to all the best exclusive clubs, you were invited to all
the best parties, and you had all the best friends. Your mother and father were very proud.
You graduated from college and got the best job with the best firm at the best address in the best
city. Your mother and father were very proud.
You excelled at your job and were promoted many times. You got the best titles and got the
biggest bonuses. You became wealthy and enjoyed the best things that money could buy.
As time passed, you found that you weren't as happy as you thought you should be. You wondered
if this was a sign you should settle down and start a family. That would make your mother and
father very happy.
You went to work on the train that morning daydreaming of how great things could be. You could
be a successful career man complemented with a beautiful, smart, charming and loving wife raising
inspiring adorable children. You stepped into the elevator wondering if you would be a good little
league coach, even though it had been years since you had played baseball. Could you relate to
kids? You hadn't been around many of them since you yourself had been a child. You smiled at the
idea of taking your son or daughter to a zoo and seeing the exotic animals through their eyes–-
seeing the wonders of the world with an innocence and amazement that your eyes alone could no
longer see.
You made your way to your office, turned on your computer, and began to respond to your emails,
your mind still swimming in thoughts a million miles from work. The entire building then shook so
violently that you were thrown from your chair and onto the floor. People screamed, tears flowing
down their faces. You saw smoke rising outside of the window from the lower floors, and you
smelled the putrid odor of burning plastic, carpet, wood and flesh.
Chaos gripped the entire floor as people rushed all around you, desperate to find a safe exit that
didn’t exist. The fire was rising toward you from the lower floors; you could feel the heat under your
feet. The smoke was pouring out of the elevator and ventilation shafts. The room was getting
darker and the air was hard to breathe. Your lungs strained and your eyes burned.
Eric was now in your office. His office had burned away. He needed to breathe. The two of you
picked up your oak desk, and with a strength you had never before felt, heaved it through your
window. Breathable air came rushing into your office and your lungs soaked it in. The fire smelled
the oxygen, and it quickly ate through your door and rushed to consume your office. You and Eric
looked at each other, but no words were spoken. He looked to the flames, lunged out of the
window, and disappeared into the plumes of smoke rising from the lower floors.
Time disappeared, and the world was moving around you in slow motion. You heard the sound of
your tricycle tires roaring down the runway of your parents’ deck. You saw Evel smiling to you,
barely visible in the smoke. You looked to the flames, and you felt the searing heat burning your
skin. You felt an unearthly peace come over you as you stepped to the window. The wind swept
across your face and pushed through your hair, and between the dark waves of smoke you looked
down almost a thousand feet to the scurrying microscopic people on the street. Evel put his hand
on your shoulder and whispered, “Go get’em, kid.” You spread your arms and leaned out over the
sky. As gravity began to pull you down, you pushed off of the ledge as hard as your legs could
muster. The sound of the tricycle wheels on the wood fell silent. You and your little green and white
Coast to Coast tricycle sailed into the horizon.
Discuss this article and read comments
CMF Fiction - Short Story
By Tyler Payne
Posted on Saturday, September 4 at 5:00 p.m.
You always wanted to be able to fly. You would fly high above the town and see beyond the hills in
all directions. You would swoop down on the bullies at the playground, and they would fall back in
awe. You would play basketball like no other boy had ever played the game. You would be a hero.
You would fly far, far away from your home. You would see new places, with new people and new
adventures. You would fly back home in time for dinner. You would be very, very happy.
You told your mother that you wished you could fly, and you asked her what you could do to be like
Superman. She sat down on your bed, tucked you in, and told you that if you prayed and if you
were a good boy, anything was possible.
That night, you prayed. You shut your eyes so tight that you saw stars, and you clenched your
hands together with such passion that they ached. You prayed for hours.
You told your mother the next night that you had prayed, but God didn't speak back to you. She
smiled and told you that God doesn’t usually talk to people directly, but that she was sure he had
heard you. If you kept praying and if you were a good boy, anything was possible.
You prayed every night, and you were a very good boy. You set the table as you had been taught.
You helped with the dishes without being asked. You were nice to your brother and your sister,
even when nobody was looking. You did what you mother and father told you to do, and you didn’t
complain.
You watched TV with your father one Saturday night before bedtime, and you saw a man named
Evel sail over a whole line of buses on his motorcycle. He could fly!
That night you went to bed at your bedtime without complaining, and again you prayed. You prayed
until your head hurt and your mind was numb. You prayed until sleep arrived to lift you from your
toil.
The next morning you awoke early with a tingle of excitement usually reserved for Saturday morning
cartoons or Christmas. You got dressed and hurried downstairs. Your mother and father were
already awake and were at the kitchen table, reading the Sunday newspaper and sipping their
coffee. They smiled and asked why you were out of bed so early. You told them that you wanted to
go outside. They laughed and told you to have fun, but to be sure to stay in the yard.
You went to the bottom of the front deck stairs and grabbed your trusty green and white Coast to
Coast tricycle. You carried it up the stairs and crawled up on the seat, your legs resting firmly on the
pedals below you. You stared down the length of the deck and into the horizon where the wood
ended and the sky began.
You clasped your hands together one last time and bowed your head. You thanked God. You
opened your eyes, and focused on the flight path. You began to pedal as hard as your legs could
muster. The wheels of your tricycle sang loudly on the wooden boards, the noise growing louder as
your speed increased.
Inside the house, your mother and father heard the strange sound. They turned to the sliding glass
door just in time to see you and your little green and white Coast to Coast tricycle speed by. They
rushed after you.
Your legs were now pumping at a furious pace, pistons fueled by passion. The end of the deck was
drawing near, and everything was so clear that you were seeing it in slow motion. The end of the
deck was now below you, and the horizon was before you. You leaned back slightly to capture the
angle of ascent that Evel had shown you--that God had shown you. The sound of wheels on wood
fell silent as you flew from the end of the deck. Behind you, you could now hear your mother and
father yelling at you to stop. They didn’t understand. God had not spoken to them.
You then realized that things were going terribly wrong. You and your tricycle plummeted to the
ground far below. Your back wheels landed first, and then your front wheel slammed into the
ground, throwing your face into the handlebars. You saw a flash of bright light, and then felt a
shooting pain. You were cloaked in silence. You touched your forehead with your hand and felt
something warm. You looked at your fingers and saw blood. You screamed, tears rolling down your
face.
Your mother and father rushed to you, your father asking you what in the hell you were doing and
your mother telling you that it was just a little bump on the head. You continued to scream. Your
father told you that it wasn’t that bad and to toughen up. Your cries always made him
uncomfortable. Your mother picked you up to take you back inside the house. You continued to
scream.
They didn’t understand. You weren’t screaming because of the pain. You were screaming in anger.
You were screaming at God.
After that day, you quit talking to God. Your mother and father still took you to church, but you
were never really present. You knew the mass by heart-–you knew exactly how many minutes the
completion of each part of the service preceded the blessed end of the ceremony.
You grew up to be a successful and ambitious young high school man. You had the best grades,
you were the best athlete, and you had the best girlfriends. Your mother and father were very
proud.
You went to college and studied a little, played a lot, and maintained nearly perfect grades. You were
the president of your fraternity, you belonged to all the best exclusive clubs, you were invited to all
the best parties, and you had all the best friends. Your mother and father were very proud.
You graduated from college and got the best job with the best firm at the best address in the best
city. Your mother and father were very proud.
You excelled at your job and were promoted many times. You got the best titles and got the
biggest bonuses. You became wealthy and enjoyed the best things that money could buy.
As time passed, you found that you weren't as happy as you thought you should be. You wondered
if this was a sign you should settle down and start a family. That would make your mother and
father very happy.
You went to work on the train that morning daydreaming of how great things could be. You could
be a successful career man complemented with a beautiful, smart, charming and loving wife raising
inspiring adorable children. You stepped into the elevator wondering if you would be a good little
league coach, even though it had been years since you had played baseball. Could you relate to
kids? You hadn't been around many of them since you yourself had been a child. You smiled at the
idea of taking your son or daughter to a zoo and seeing the exotic animals through their eyes–-
seeing the wonders of the world with an innocence and amazement that your eyes alone could no
longer see.
You made your way to your office, turned on your computer, and began to respond to your emails,
your mind still swimming in thoughts a million miles from work. The entire building then shook so
violently that you were thrown from your chair and onto the floor. People screamed, tears flowing
down their faces. You saw smoke rising outside of the window from the lower floors, and you
smelled the putrid odor of burning plastic, carpet, wood and flesh.
Chaos gripped the entire floor as people rushed all around you, desperate to find a safe exit that
didn’t exist. The fire was rising toward you from the lower floors; you could feel the heat under your
feet. The smoke was pouring out of the elevator and ventilation shafts. The room was getting
darker and the air was hard to breathe. Your lungs strained and your eyes burned.
Eric was now in your office. His office had burned away. He needed to breathe. The two of you
picked up your oak desk, and with a strength you had never before felt, heaved it through your
window. Breathable air came rushing into your office and your lungs soaked it in. The fire smelled
the oxygen, and it quickly ate through your door and rushed to consume your office. You and Eric
looked at each other, but no words were spoken. He looked to the flames, lunged out of the
window, and disappeared into the plumes of smoke rising from the lower floors.
Time disappeared, and the world was moving around you in slow motion. You heard the sound of
your tricycle tires roaring down the runway of your parents’ deck. You saw Evel smiling to you,
barely visible in the smoke. You looked to the flames, and you felt the searing heat burning your
skin. You felt an unearthly peace come over you as you stepped to the window. The wind swept
across your face and pushed through your hair, and between the dark waves of smoke you looked
down almost a thousand feet to the scurrying microscopic people on the street. Evel put his hand
on your shoulder and whispered, “Go get’em, kid.” You spread your arms and leaned out over the
sky. As gravity began to pull you down, you pushed off of the ledge as hard as your legs could
muster. The sound of the tricycle wheels on the wood fell silent. You and your little green and white
Coast to Coast tricycle sailed into the horizon.
Discuss this article and read comments