Last August, Ciren Scene published lifelong writer and longstanding member, Linda’s poem; ‘Sunset in the Golden Valley’. This year you can read her short story – ‘Nice Bike’ in the Online Ciren Scene magazine. Linda has lived in several countries, is an accomplished linguist, and still teaches modern Greek to many students. She has also broadcast programmes for adults and children on local radio and run children’s writing competitions.
Somewhere Else Writers are always eager to encourage people to enjoy writing and reading. Frank McMahon and Iris Anne Lewis are both widely published poets who take part in the ‘Writers in the Library’ group which welcomes public participants at two pm each second Monday of the month to the Bingham Library to read and listen to both poetry and prose by themselves or their favourite writers. The event lasts an hour, and no charge is made to attend.
Nice Bicycle
“Nice bicycle,” Joe said to the girl in the pink puffer coat who had just pulled up beside him outside the Co-op.
“Thanks,” said the girl without looking at him as she chained the bike to the fence. “I won it.”
“Won it?” … the words trailed off into thin air as the girl hurried into the shop. Joe examined the bike. It was definitely very girlie looking with stripes of pink and mauve and a natty silver coloured basket. The handlebars sported a dainty bell painted in matching colours. The saddle was covered in a shiny vinyl fabric and the back wheel was surmounted by a jazzy luggage rack. The only thing that jarred slightly was the fact that it appeared to be a bit too small for its owner – but then, if she had won it …
By now he was so curious that he thought he would just have to wait for its owner to emerge from the store. As he leaned on the fence next to the bike, however, he became aware of a commotion in the street. A large black four by four had pulled up and a man was shouting out of the window.
“Stop that fellow! He’s the one who stole my daughter’s bike! “ Meanwhile, a young girl aged about eleven had jumped out of the car and was running towards him, gesticulating wildly, the bobbles on her hat dancing crazily.
The young girl started hitting him on the arm. “My new bike!” She shrieked!” It was a present from my grandma! You horrible man!!”
“Hang on! Hang on!” He pulled his arm away. “It’s nothing to do with me. The girl in the pink puffer jacket brought it here. She said she’d won it.”
“She’s still inside,” he added, hoping fervently that she hadn’t slipped out by another exit.
“A likely tale!” said the child’s father, a big man about six foot tall, as he marched towards Joe.
“I’m arresting you by citizen’s arrest,” he continued, twisting Joe’s arm painfully behind his back.
Just then, the girl emerged from the store. Joe thought his troubles were over as he shouted,” That’s her! She’s the one you want.” The girl stopped for a split second, then, bold as brass, called out to the man, “Don’t believe a word he says. He’s a drug addict and he’ll steal anything to get a fix.”
Then she turned to the child and patted her on the shoulder. ” Don’t worry. He couldn’t have got any further with it – I managed to get the key off him and chain the bike to the fence. Here you are.” She produced the key and handed it over to the smiling youngster.
“Thank you, thank you!” cried the child as the police car drew up, siren blaring.
“Don’t mention it,” the girl in the pink jacket replied with a jaunty wave, as she walked off quickly, leaving Joe to face the music.
Thereafter, he never admired anything ever again.
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