I always cycle around my town. I would wake up every morning at 7AM and will spend 2-3 hours on my bicycle. I do it everyday that it would be natural for me to wake up at 7AM. You must be wondering, why did I start cycling?  It all started when I played skateboard. Skateboarding was fun, but... it hurts. You fall almost 10 times a day and a scratch would be inevitable, unless you had experience for 10 years. I was practicing my "ollie" and thought I would step it up a notch. I set up an obstacle 1 meter high and tried to "ollie" over it. Of course, I landed wrongly and broke both of my hands. It was expected. I had to live in the hospital for a month, and went there for rehab for a couple of times. It didn't traumatize me though. When I got back home from the hospital, my dad told me that he sold my deck to my neighbor. I was furious. I went to my room and locked myself in for 2 days. My dad should understand why I was furious. He knows how I loved my deck.

*knock knock*

"Amirul.. I'm sorry that I sold your skateboard, but I didn't want you to get hurt again. I love you okay?" my dad said in a very sympathetic voice.

"Go away, Dad. I don't want to talk to you." I blatantly replied.

"I got you something. I really hope you like it. I'll just leave it by the door." My dad said and he left afterwards.

I got up and listened through the door to make sure he really left. When the line was clear, I opened to check what he got for me. It was a bicycle. Not just an ordinary bicycle, it was a racing bicycle. Carbon fiber frame and super lightweight. Thin rim and tires which is only 28mm thick. I was super happy! I got in the room with the bike and slept early so I could test it out.

I woke up the next day and got in my tights and went for a cycle. It was very smooth, very aerodynamic and it could climb hills with ease. Me being an adrenaline junkie, I thought I wanted to try to go 100km/h down a hill. So I went to the steepest hill I could find cycled all the way to the top. Then, I went down.

I cycled and cycled and I saw my speed-o-meter going up. 60.. 70.. 80... 90... and it stopped. It didn't go up. I dropped to my lowest gear and cycled as fast as I could. 97.. 98.. 99.. 100KM/h! "Yeah!" I screamed when I got my milestone. I was so excited. I thought it would be hard but nope. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

I woke up and suddenly the door of my hut was broken down. Damn it, need to change the door again.

"The town needs our help again, Master."

"No," I replied as I slowly rose from my bed.

"No?" The man who broke the door, stepped out of the shadows, relieving his muddied, but still youthful face. His ragged robe swept the dust behind him, " but sire, why not?"

"Because nothing good comes out of it, Jack." I stood up and reached for the drink on the table, "it's not practical and you know it."

"I do, Master Terrence, but there's another demon terrorizing the townsfolk."

“No more helping the locals. No more demons, no more exorcisms,” I removed my moth-eaten hood and slowly walked outside, “our shaman have been crucified, our village pillaged, and our women stoned.”

Jack remained silent as he followed me through their village, settled away at the edge of the forest. The acolytes who remained looked grey and feeble as they huddled near various campfires.

“They treat us like animals, you fool, can’t you see?” I vaguely motioned to their village.

“It’s, it’s not that bad, sire,” he frowned as he stepped over various malnourished bodies; several feebly cried out for help, “but I guess things could use some improvem-”

“Every time there’s an omen, Jack, they come for us. Every goat with 3 eyes, every cow with 2 heads, every newborn with a unibrow, they come here and persecute us.”

I flung my arms wildly in the air, “yeah sure, blame the necromancers! Every time the rivers flood, every time the corn tastes weird, and every time it rains frogs, its our fault, but the second someone needs an unholy demon slain its all, ‘oh please save us Acolytes of the Red Night! Save us Terrence, save us with your scary sorcery and spooky pentagrams.”

There were distant screams of panic coming from the nearby town. A ghastly scent of burnt flesh filled their remote village. Jack stared at the rising pillar of smoke awaiting for a response.

“The answer is still no.”

“… but sire.”

“Do you know how many sacrificed virgins it takes to cast out a demon, Jack?”

“Yes sire, I am aware.”

“Then you must also be aware that you’re one of the few virgins I have left to spare, huh?”

Jack’s face turned several shades of maroon as he made confident eye contact with the mud.

“Not so keen on saving the village now, are you?”

Song sôNG/
noun
a short poem or other set of words set to music or meant to be sung.