Her apron strings flailed behind her, like a kite tail, the first time she left.

A butter yellow moth whispered in her wake.

It was a quick escape.

Tears crisscrossed her flat cheek, creating little glistening paths of fear and possibility. A silent scream clawing at the back of her throat as she peddled unfamiliarly ahead.

She wanted to change her life.

She had to change her life.

That’s why she bought the bike.

A metaphor of leaving. A symbolic gift to herself, to object to the reality of the King’s ownership of everything. Of his all ready having everything, and taking everything, and calling everything his own even if it was not. His own glorious ‘Titanium 5000′, was so light he could “lift it with one finger.” He had built it himself right there in front of her after she had mentioned wanting a bike of her own, and after he had mentioned they didn’t have enough money. To buy a bike. For her. Of course it was cheaper if he built it himself, and so he did. For himself.

It was about a year later that she crawled out of her skin and bought a bike. And she named it.

He had always wanted her to exercise!

The bike purchase was her first magical glimpse of a completely new ride.

She was going to exercise all right. She was going to exercise all over the fucking place.