photo by Nimesh Basu via Unsplash
For Sonya’s Three line tales photo prompt
She hadn’t wanted to; he had seen the look of terror on her face and known that fear of the bike had been merely an extension of her fear of him.
“Lean with the bike, not against it,” he had roared when he felt her struggling, but she hadn’t wanted to lean anywhere, just for it to stop, and it had, but not the way either of them would have chosen.
When he saw the black figure rise up among the meadow flowers of the field, he had not been surprised; he had always known what death would look like when it came for him.