Baghdad On A Bike

• James Brakespeare, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2008

Baghdad, sometime in the not too distant future:

As the first weak rays of sunlight began to appear along the distant horizon, Gabir waited wearily upon his aged two stroke Honda motorcycle, as the line of traffic stretched before him. Though it was only early morning the air was just as hot, dry, and still as it had ever been. Distinct was the reek of the static vehicles’ fumes and the sounds of the city he knew so well. Ever so slowly the the line in front of him shortened. As he waited upon his stationary Honda which was laden with bread and pastries for the richer quarter of the city, Gabir glanced in the rear vision mirror. And froze. Joining the back of the queue were three shining black Cadillac Escalades, the signature vehicle of the rebel Western private security contractors working in Iraq. They were renowned for randomly murdering civilians. Especially motorcyclists. Even though they are strictly bound by Iraqi and US law, no one could ever prove anything and the killing went on. Gabir, gripped the accelerator nervously, scanning for away out of the jam. Spotting a gap between an old Renault and an even older Lada, Gabir slammed the throttle, the air whipping past him as he swerved blindly, missing wing mirrors and rear bumpers. Even amidst the noise of the city, the first gunshots were startling. As Gabir veered around the waiting vehicles, car windows exploded in a glittering shower of a million shards of glass. A whump resounded through the air as a Chevrolet was engulfed in an oil fuelled inferno. Rickety stalls on the side of the terrace shattered, and people screamed in sheer terror as round upon round of heavy machine gun fire was blasted everywhere by the people in the white Cadillacs. Gabir was finally on a clear road, but when he, once again looked at his rear view mirror he felt utter dread. Bearing down on him was one of the Escalades. Leaning out the window was a clean shaven, black haired man armed with a machine pistol. A cruel smile spread across his face, under his large black sunglasses. With his eyes still fixed on the mirror, he weaved as the two stroke strained to accelerate forward. The man slowly raised his gun, and fired. As the man drew back into the car, a bang sounded and he felt the back of the motorbike’s rear wheel slew sideways. Gabir looked behind him to see his tyre burst and rim exposed. Seemingly in slow motion, the bike flipped sideways. Gabir gaped in horror, as the bike flew towards a skip bin on the edge of the road. Tangled up with the Honda, Gabir knew he had become one more of the unnamed private security contractor’s victims as saw the bin fill his vision, coming closer and closer and closer…