Chrome buffed and polished to a glimmering shine.
The bold red paint and black leather were tended with gentle hands in quiet caresses.
I never understood how the callused hands that left hidden bruises could be so tender.
Sometimes I was jealous of that motorcycle.
Most of the time?
Because when the engine roared to life and carried him down the road I could finally, fearlessly, breathe.
The word for this flash is MOTORCYCLE with a word limit of 75. This flash comes in precisely at 75.
hashtag with #getpublished #flashfiction @RedmundPro