Page 90 of Devil Inside

Without my bike, I don’t know who the hell I am. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?

Trying to find myself again?

The surge of bikes down the street. I’m trapped in the flow. I’m smack dab in the middle of a hundred cycles and there’s no swaying. No escape. This body feels like it’s filled with cement. Everything is just so weighed down.

I wanted to feel alive again. I’ve tried dragging this piece of myself back into the land of the living for months now, but I just can’t do it. That part of me is gone.

So what’s left? Who am I now?

The riders swarm around me. Pass me. A bike brakes to my right and nearly clips my tire. I’ve got to skid a bit. The gearhead turns and glances over his shoulder. It’s the skull-faced motherfucker from before. He’s chasing after me, Death himself ready for another go.

Did I bring something back with me? Are these my demons?

I glance around at the riders closest to me. On my left, there’s another grim reaper—or maybe it’s the same one, maybe he’s always been the one and only, I don’t know—riding his bike just next to mine. Only inches away. He turns, nods. I see his scythe slung over his shoulder. Won’t be long now before he catches up to me again, whisking me away.

I look over to my right, and I swear I see skulls. Nothing but empty-socketed eyes. Dead eyes. Skulls in bike helmets. I’ve got to blink back to reality. Back to myself.

What the fuck is happening here?

I’m stuck.

All I see are these bikes made of bones. Nothing but human skeletons. Ribs for spokes. Vertebra bike frames. The chainsthemselves are finger segments, an endless stretch of phalanges, all linked together, cranking away as their rider pedals harder.

I’m doing my damnedest to blink the image out, but it doesn’t work. I can’t stop seeing them now. There are over a hundred hoodied grim reapers all around me.

I’m riding alongside Death. Death all around. Death everywhere.

Death inside me.

I’m dead. Fucking dead. Have been for months. Just living on borrowed time. Won’t be long before I clock out all over again. Get dragged back down to hell.

Where I belong.

Just not yet.

Not tonight.

I lose my balance and veer into the neighboring lane. The bikes to my right have to steer clear of me, weaving over the road.

“Watch it,” Dracula shouts.

I can’t stop myself from seeing them. They’re everywhere. All around me. Nothing but the dead, riding these bikes made of bones.

“Out of the way,” another reaper shouts.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I need to get off. Need to stop. I cut through the crowd. Take the hardest right turn. Who cares if I clip anyone else. I need to stop,make it all stop.

All the bikes to my right have to skid, cutting their brakes to avoid impact. The shouts coming from the rest of the riders follows me to the sidewalk.

When I reach the side of the ride, I skid to a halt. My hip brushes against a parked car before I stop. I leap off the bike and land on my feet, finding solid ground under me.

I buckle over, out of breath. I grip my knees and gasp, but my lungs still won’t unlock. I’m doing everything I can just to get the air back inside my body. To breathe.

Breathe, goddamn it. Just breathe.

The fleet of wheels rushes past. I’m watching them all zip by, the marathon of midnight riders sweeping over the street, while I’m stationary, gasping for air.

Just trying to survive.