by swaddon » Wed Feb 09, 2011 6:45pm
Here's what we have so far in our Booker Prize-winning classic:
I was sitting in my chair watching TV when, in the corner of my eye, I saw out the window a sight so shocking it made my blood run cold. Someone lay lifeless on the road, with what seemed to be a bike lock in their hand. I drew the curtains so as not to be distracted from my favourite show, but was disturbed again by a young woman hammering on my front door. I answered the door to the young woman. She said "Want to buy a bike?" I told her I couldn't ride a bike, but she persisted with her sales pitch. "It's got Reynolds 531 double-butted tubing, and I'll even throw in this saddlebag for free!" she enthused. yes, ok then, I will buy the bike thanks. Just as I was writing her a cheque for the bike, something odd happened. A screaming and bloodied man sprinted out of the darkness, waving a bike lock in the air! The young woman forced her way in and slammed the front door behind her. "Save me, Save me!" she cried, as the man crashed into the door. Just then, I woke up, drenched in sweat. It had all been a dream. But who was the woman with the bike? And who was chasing her? What did it all mean? As I lay in bed trying to work it all out, there was a knock at the door. it was a woman asking if i wanted to buy a bike. 'f@#k off' I screamed and slammed the door so hard, it hit her square in the face with a sickening crack! All of a sudden I felt queasy, my vision blurred and I stumbled to the kitchen. I went to put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, but the kettle wasn't there. Nothing was there. The kitchen was empty. "What's going on?" I said to myself. I saw a picture on the wall and everything started to make a little bit more sense. It was a portrait of a bicycle. The same bicycle that nearly hit me that fateful Saturday morning. A saddle had flown from its rear, and hit me in the shins. I shouted after the hairy looking cyclist, but he appeared not to hear me.