Fiction Friday #3 - The gauntlet
How old is old enough to wonder where it all went wrong?
Three Fiction Fridays in and I hope you know how these work by now. If not, here’s the link to the first, where I explain it all: Fiction Friday 1st Edition. You can also find all stories in here: TheEndNote — Fiction Fridays
This one was inspired by Alejandra Arroyo’s prompt on the last edition, which I’m hoping was not a personal attack. I still took it as so, because that’s how I live my life.
The prompt will be included at the end to avoid spoilers. You will also find the weekly writing challenge that goes on top of any prompt.
So yeah, go ahead an read the story, take a shot at the prompt, and practice the writing exercise. Let me know how it goes, and throw me another challenge!
So without further ado, here's this week's Fiction Friday:
The gauntlet
Eugenio de la Vega
On his 30th birthday, Noel Mentana remembered his first bike. It had been a gift from his parents on a day like this 22 years before. A flaming red frame with accents in black and white, checkered flags, and fire decals. Everything about it said speed. And he was quick too to lose the training wheels and get his first taste of freedom.
He remembered school in the years that followed. Enduring the eight hours of sit-down-shut-ups just to finally come home and find her. His very own bike to roam fast and freely to places he would never have been to if it wasn’t by getting lost on the thrill of a bike ride with Mike.
He remembered Mike, who was a year younger but who’s life had played out a certain way that made him act as the older of the two. Noel didn’t mind that much those days. Mike was gutsier anyway, and while Noel was often limited by homework duty, bedtimes, and family dinner schedules, Mike seemed to always be ready to ride. Always guiding through freshly discovered trails and coming up with new dares.
To remember Mike was to remember countless adventures and hundreds of falls. The funny and the sketchy ones and the big overlap between the two. “No fear” was Mike’s motto, getting Noel to repeat it whenever he was about to chicken out, which was quite often. But Mike’s motto rarely failed at its task.
Except for once.
“The Gauntlet,” said Mike, “it’s a sick drop. I found it yesterday. Dude I’m telling you I was going at least 100 ks per hour.”
“You’re full of shit,” he’d answered. Noel cursed only around Mike.
“Dude, my friend from high-school was trying to follow me in his car, but he said he lost me past 80.” Mike brought up his older friends whenever Noel wasn’t convinced. In their early teens, having friends in high-school did a good bunch for Mike’s credibility. Especially if they had cars. Noel had never met these friends, “He’s going out with a girl tonight” he would often say. Or “Nah, he’s too hungover to join us. They all got blackout drunk last night by the bush.” Still, the stories of their validation were enough to shut down any doubts.
And so they rode up the crescent, past the belvedere, and through the cemetery. They got to the bush and made their way past broken bottles and half smoked cigarettes which Noel took as proof of Mike’s friends' antics. Finally, they reached the church at the top of the hill, and just behind its yard, Mike led the way to an old abandoned trail that went on for a few hundred meters before, seemingly, just ending. At the edge of the trail, Mike stopped.
“This is it,” he said, “The Gauntlet”.
The cliff, or what Noel thought was a cliff up until reaching the edge, was in fact an old funicular railway system that had been used to transport materials up and downhill when they built the church. From the front courtyard, you could see the entire city, that’s how the church had been planned out. But from here, you could see miles of abandoned land, factories and ranches that had at some point paved the way here.
Gazing upon the cliff put a hole in Noel’s stomach. The drop was virtually 90 degrees for the first good bit. There was no way of knowing how long until it flattened out, as the vertigo of the scene didn’t allow him to stare for long. Noel took a step back. Mike stood by the edge, still on his bike, threw a quick smirk at him and then looked down the cliff.
Noel hesitated, as if to say something. But a voice inside told him that to stop. To say nothing and leave. To speak now meant opening a door for Mike’s persuasion, and he knew he’d break as he always did. So he stayed quiet as Mike went on some monologue he couldn’t really hear. He got back on his bike and started pedaling back the way they came from.
Soon he heard Mike’s call in the distance.
“Hey where are you going, man?”
Noel kept riding.
“Don’t be a baby, dude” Noel could hear Mike getting closer. He had started chasing him. He rode faster.
“You always do this, oh my god… honestly,” his voice had gone from amused to violent. Noel pushed as hard as he could. His legs were getting exhausted but he could hear Mike getting farther away in the distance. He was losing him.
Finally, he heard a faint, distant, “Hey, man, no fear!”
That was the last time he’d ever seen Mike. He remembered getting home and hiding his bike in the backyard behind his dad’s gardening tools. He remembered shutting the door in his room and crying inexplicably.
Then he remembered the weeks that came after that. Headed back home straight from school, did his homework, and went back to his room. He spent the rest of the school year in the safety of his books, until the day of his 14th birthday, when his parents woke him up to a big present.
“You’ve been doing so well in school, dear. All your teachers have been calling us to say you’ve been calm and attentive in class, and it really shows! We were frankly amazed by your last report card, honey.”
“We’ll talk about gym class later,” Noel’s dad added as mom gave him a look, “but we want to let you know we are so proud, and… anyway, here.” He finished, and they both took a step aside to reveal the computer behind them, no wrapping paper but a big flaming red bow on the corner of the screen.
Noel rushed back home from school every day after that. There was a world to discover beneath that screen and he couldn’t wait to explore it.
In class, he’d do as he was told so that his parents would continue to be proud. At home, he’d do as he was told so that he could go back to his computer.
But online he was a hero.
No gruesome foe he could not overpower, no final boss who’s grave he could not teabag, no comment section he could not pwn. Enemies flinched at the sight of his username: Xx_NoFe4r_xX meant trouble.
On his 30th birthday, Noel Mentana remembered Xx_NoFe4r_xX, he remembered his first computer, The Gauntlet, Mike, and his first bike. All a sequence of events, one leading to the other.
On his 30th birthday, Noel Mentana got ready for work. Took the train, then the bus, sat down at his desk, and did as he was told. Got scheduled for a meeting which turned out to be a surprise cake party thrown for him and the other coworkers who celebrated their birthdays that month. Had a piece of key lime pie which was his fourth favourite and a free coffee from the cafeteria. Went back to work and clocked out at 5:00. He took the bus, then the train, and headed back home. During the ride, he played the same sequence of events in his head over and over again. First forwards, and then mirrored backwards. Then all over again until today. He couldn’t help but wonder how other timelines would look. Where they split. Who he was in the other ones. Who he could’ve been if he did something different.
Then he went online, as usual, but kept off his usual websites and instead, for his 30th birthday, Noel Mentana bought himself a bike.
The prompt:
I love prompts. In fact, I love them so much, on the first Fiction Friday I invited y’all to comment prompts and challenges to spark new stories.
So far, I’ve been a big fan of the prompts that have been thrown my way. The last one coming from Ale Arroyo who’s advice has guided much more than just this story.
A midlife crisis at just 30, she says. Which to me sounds like a perfectly good age to have one. At 28, I have them all the time… I guess you could argue these are not “midlife”, as I’m not middle aged yet. I guess you could say these are just plain old crises and existential dread. But…
Call me an early adopter, a crisis avoider, or a misfortune teller, but all too frequently I get a glimpse of where life is headed and a sudden urge to mix it all up. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. To avoid being late to my own midlife crisis, I start now.
And so does Noel, when he wonders what he could’ve done differently to avoid the path his life is heading towards now. Maybe he’s not too late. A butterfly flaps its wings and so on…
The challenge:
The challenge this week was simple and sweet. Goes to show all you need to write is a paper and a pen. As the weather gets nicer in my city, my self-imposed challenge was:
Go write outside
Very much enjoyed it, would recommend. Performative park writing takes performative coffee shop reading any day of the week. Easy.
Of course most of it happened when I came back home to edit. But it was a good excuse to get some sun and avoid writers’ FOMO.
It’d be interesting to see how environments influence writing. I’m sure someone somewhere has a bunch of research on it. If you know where to find it, please share.
Anyway,
That was the prompt and the challenge of the week. That was our third edition Fiction Friday.
Let me know what you thought, send me your short stories based on this prompt or challenge, and finally, send me a challenge you would like to see featured in the next Fiction Friday.
Thanks for reading,
Eugenio
Midlife crisis at 30 (ish) sounds like my day-to-day — yay me!
Maybe I’m a little late for this week’s fiction Friday prompt, but here’s one for next week: a well-intentioned lie starts to spiral 🥴