Mike flicked the bell on his new bike as he raced down the hill. This is what freedom felt like; wind in his hair, bugs in his teeth. It had taken him eighteen months of shoveling dog crap to save up enough, but it was all worth it.
Normally he wouldn’t have noticed the small boy sitting on the curb, but normally he wouldn’t have been flying down the sidewalk at close to warp speed. He wouldn’t even have noticed him that day except for the crash; the boy with the bike and Mike with the curb.
The bike, the precious bike, flew out from under Mike, and, after making contact with the boy, landed in the road. Mike looked first at the bike, then at the crumpled form at his feet. He paused only for a second before reaching down and lifting up the boy to the sound of metal crunching behind him.