Some days Feliks would go for a ride on the bicycle he found in the aunt's shed. The arm was healing.
He rode through the pathways in the rye fields, on the edge on the forest.
Single plants blurred together with speed. The sun shined over his head and the sky was blue. Sometimes there was wind. He would ride and leave people working in the proximity of the village behind.
He would relax, close his eyes for a moment. Liberated of the everyday problems.
The only sounds were the creaking of the old bicycle.
During does rides he would look upon the green forest. Sometimes he imagined he saw movement in the shadows cast by the trees. He would ponder if that was the partisans hiding, meeting under the cover of the greenery. His gaze would scrutinize the forest's wall for a while, never finding the silhouettes.
Feliks would take a deep breath and continue his ride.
It was so quite, it was impossible the war was there.
thankyou to all that read, commented and liked the story. I have it all down, yay, and next two chapter are even edited (thanks to painfully slow bus ride from my home town back to work)
