Image: Van Gogh, Avenue of poplars
Part One of this Story can be found here: https://summerstommy.com/2016/07/31/microfiction-challenge-7-wheatfield/
Rac woke to the shaking of a paramedic. The pain in his knees had gone and his mind went immediately into panic mode thinking his legs had completely gone.
There was a voice asking if he was alright?
His mouth started to sprout his minds panic. “My legs, my legs, are they still there?”
Several hours later Rac became aware of hospital surroundings. A policeman was standing beside his bed. His mates Art and Cumber were sitting in the corner in earnest conversation.
Again his mind went into dread and he glanced down to where he knew his legs should be. He even moved them and they seemed to be as they should.
The policeman’s question completely bamboozled him.
“Why was Rac and his two mates sleeping in the wheatfield.?
Rac considered himself a tough guy. He took no crap from anyone but the day’s events had shaken him. Art and Cumber shrugged when he asked them about what had happened. Both men could only remember entering the wheatfield.
Rac remembered the pain, the foot on his wrist, the bike chain being prized from his grip and flung away. Something wasn’t right.
Two days later Rac was back at the roadside rest café for in his heart there existed two urges. One was to stay away the other was for revenge. Being a man of great pride, revenge seemed the way to go.
He parked himself in a corner of the café in a spot where he could see all the comings and goings. What he remembered most was the face of the man who had lured him into the wheatfield and given him the worst pain of his life. He would wait, for he was sure the man would return and Rac would be ready this time. His bike chain retrieved from the field was at his feet, ready for when he needed it.
Most people who frequented the café were weary travelers needing a rest stop and some food. They came and they went and Rac studied each of them.
Three days into his vigil a man entered the café. He had driven in on a big bike and parked it out front. Rac’s interested was immediately piqued. Though he looked different he was sure it was the same man and Rac focused totally on him. The man ordered breakfast and a diet coke and sat across the other side of the café occasionally glancing in Rac’s direction.
With his toe he nudged the chain to make sure it was still there. He was feeling the need to confront the man when the man stood up and taking a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket made his way across the room towards Rac’s table.
As he passed he dropped the note on Rac’s table. Rac looked at it and reached for it as the man left.
He looked at the note unfolded it and looked at it in dismay:
“Doing elbows this week, interested?”
Rac felt the fear of the previous week surface once again. He gulped, saw the man was paying his bill, then leave the café not giving Rac a second look. Rac stood up, tripped over his chair, scrambled to his feet and hurriedly made his way through the avenue of tables and chairs to the rest room.
Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/08/05/microfiction-challenge-8-the-avenue/
Morpethroad 
