Inktober 3

The odd one out. My bike was stolen on Friday and everyone pointed out how much that sucked. It didn’t really suck that much because as much as I loved the bike in the end it is a perfectly replaceable object- and it cost me like 60 pounds. I told my friend I wasn’t really bothered.

That same night I had a dream: I was riding that bicycle on the balcony of my grandparents’ old house. My family and I lived there for about five years as our house was being built. In that house I experienced as a child the first loss in our family. My aunt died because of an aneurysm when she was in her early forties. No one saw it coming.

My aunt and her family occupied the upper floor apartment in the same building.  Some time later there was a fire in their house and a lot of things were lost in the flames.

The last time I saw our family dog was on that balcony; he was ill and suffering and died some time later.

My grandparents are both dead and the house is currently empty. I could visit it if I wanted to but it’s just another building now.

The punchline is, my other cousin and I had two Beretta bikes when we were kids. They were stolen from the garden of that house.

Thank you subconscious for this beautiful image of loss. It is the corniest thing I could ever imagine but as it turns out life sometimes imitates corny fiction.

Oh yeah that cat in the drawing? dead. It got hit by a car.

bikey

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