August 15, 2007
Short exercise before I begin writing again. 175 words.
She hung on for dear life.
The motorbike they rode was a kapchai, a small 4-stroke motorbike that required the motorcyclist and his pillion rider to sit up straight. Hunching may not have been a good idea, as it would affect the centre of gravity. In any case, she hung on to him as they sped along the empty roads to his house. There was only one thought in her head, “I got to ride on his motorbike before the end.” If it ended now, she would not have minded it at all. From time to time, one of his hands would leave the handlebars and caress her linked hands on his stomach. It was a comforting gesture, and she responded by squeezing his hand gently when he did so.
It was a silly thing to be happy about, but she was. She was finally there, with him, holding him, and from his actions, being loved by him.
An everyday act, done with sincerity, can say more than a million flowers could ever do.