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It was the week before Christmas, and throughout Kanada Kodan, not a bicycle stirred. Left in the cold to die, it wouldn't be long before the garbage vans came to send them up to the great rust-heap in the sky. But the fate of one lonely bike, which had long given up any hope of being welcomed into a loving household, was about to change for the better.
Slumped forlornly in a long-forgotten corner, this bike, let's call him Phyllis, was just waiting to surrender himself to the cold. It wouldn't be long now.He knew he looked a pititful sight to the other bicycles, parading proudly past in their fine, bright colours, and resplendent chrome. But he was beyond all help, with his saddle and handlebars hanging in pieces at his feet, and his brake and gear system now just a fading memory of better days.
Not many days later, he knew his time was up, and as he watched the servants of the all-consuming garbage van step ever closer, scanning the corners greedily for their next prey, he began to weep. Taken aback by such a heart-rendering display of fragility and inner beauty, a stranger intervened, and snatched Phyllis from the very jaws of death. The servants of the van quietly smiled, warmed by such an act of compassion, and then were gone, moving on in the promise of greater trophies to be found.
Phyllis had a strange sense of almost knowing. Knowing his saviour. He looked like the one he had seen before, burning bright with the inner light of genius mixed with madness. As Phyllis was once more brought into the warmth and light, that had been so far left behind, he wondered what peculiar turn of fate had befallen him.
With the break of the next dawn, a new dawn for Phyllis, fate was revealed. He was to be given a fresh start. The start he had only dreamed of. No longer would he be the hulk of faded pink, purple and yellow hues, tinged with the ruddy brown of well-established rust. No longer would his parts remain scattered to the wind, like so many dismembered body parts. No longer would the other bikes pass by as if he were no longer there. He would be whole again.
And so the healing process began, with the lengthy task of disassembly and cleaning, and during all this Phyllis' faith in the man never faltered for an instant, for he could see the resolve in every action. Blushing with his nakedness, he watched as broken parts were once again mended and adjusted with tender precision. The scars of a shameful past were swept away, to be replaced by an impenetratable cladding of fresh paint, and the gleam of rejuvenated silver chrome, radiant after countless millennia of filth. Gears were replaced, and brake systems repaired. And the work was done. And Phyllis was reborn.
Fussing around the bicycle like a father after his new-born child, the man paused, sensing an incompleteness about his creation. A brief smile, and then once more that inner brightness in those confident eyes. The man returned brandishing his prize, a single white bow. Resting it lightly upon the bicycle's brow, the man nodded contentedly to himself, warm in the feeling of a job well done. "It's time," said the man.
Once more being wheeled across the sun soaked earth, the bicycle was again happy. But arriving at the dwelling of another, it felt a pang of anxiety course through its frame. Was it not to be? Its fate, before so certain and sure, was now unclear. The bicycle which had been so carefully crafted at the hands of the man, was to be entrusted into the care of another. Another called Charlotte. "I will make them both proud," thought Phyllis as the keys of belonging were ceremoniously passed from one to another. And he did. And they all lived happily ever after....
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