The Road Less Traveled by D.A.Sanford - HTML preview

Escaped Prisoner

I have had a good life but now I am back to being a child in my own home. That is life. Born helpless, grow to maturity, gain knowledge and then finding that you are not young anymore with aches and pains. Then it is decided that you need people to help you in your own home or go to a nursing home i.e. a death warehouse.

My children have hired a company that will babysit me twenty four hours a day. At least I am able to work in my garage. I am puttering with my motorcycle. Polishing, lubricating and such. I am even allowed to start it. I sit and dream of the old days when I was an adult. Now I feel like a dog on a chain but that chain is short.

The warden has eyes on me at all times. What a life. I have an escape plan.

The street I live on is on a hillside. My home is on the down side of the street. My driveway is up hill. Anytime I start the bike, I have the garage door open. This time, I start the bike and just sit on it and rev the engine. I make like I am dreaming because I have on my old riding leather jacket.

The guards are watching closely. Too late and they are a little too far from me. I kick it in gear and release the brake and twist the throttle wide open. I am flying up the driveway as I hear them yelling and see them running in my rearview.

I hear a horn and feel a bump but I am now going down the road. I glance in the rearview mirror and see the group in horror. I stop at what I see. My motorcycle has been runover by a truck. My body has been mangled. All are crying. But…

I’m still on my bike. I am watching this and suddenly realize that I’m dead. The bike is still running, I am still here. I take a deep breath. I feel alive. I yell “I’m free” but none of them turn. Chuckling, I turn to the road ahead and drive off.