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The rain slicked down the window and blurred the dim lights outside. The muggy clinical heat of the hospital caused the wet leather jacket of James to steam slightly. People were looking at him as if the helmet in his hands was a severed head.
Jake was lying on his bed, beside James. Everything about him, his calm expression, his relaxed muscles and his comfortable slouch, made it look as if he would wake up any minute. But it had been five months since the crash, and Jake had never opened his eyes. James knew it too well, the longer his brother slept in his coma, the less likely he would ever come back.
James closed his eyes, trying to reminisce the good old days. Jake and he had used to be very happy playing sports everyday. Jake had always been an outstanding sportsman, impressing everybody with his agile movement and admirable speed. It had always been safe and secure back then. However, the moment James brought home his new motorbike, Jake had become a different man. He had been so fascinated by the machine such that he had spent hours after hours practicing riding it in the neighbourhood, neglecting his sports career. At first, James had been delighted to see Jake having fun, but when he realised that Jake had been possessed by the exhilarating and addictive speed of the race, he had become afraid. Something had gone in his beloved brother.
That fateful day still came back and haunted James in his sleep. Five months ago, Jake had asked James to race with him along the highway, and reluctantly he had agreed. They had walked their bikes towards the starting point, James deep in his thought. After putting on his helmet, Jake had reached eighty, one hundred, and even one hundred twenty miles per hour in just five minutes. James had tightened his grip on the handles, alarmed. He had tried to tell Jake to slow down through the thick glass of his helmet, but his brother had been really high; he had merely smirked before speeding up. When Jake reached one hundred and fifty miles per hour, James had decided to give up. He had pulled his brake and decided to wait for his aggressive brother to get his imaginary victory. He had sworn that it would be the last time he would ever race with Jake again; and true enough, it had been the last time he could ever race with Jake. It had happened in just a blink of an eye: Jake's uncontrollable motorbike had crashed right into an approaching truck on the highway; he had tried to jump out of the motorbike before it had crashed, and he had landed on the road, bleeding and broken. It had been too late to take him to the hospital. The blinding light of the truck would haunt James forever unless his brother came back from his coma.
The nurse showed James the exit way; time for visiting had been over. Jake was not a person anymore; he was just a piece of meat waiting to be rotten. Jake was not no longer there. Tears scalded his eyes as he came out into the rain-washed road. It was too late for remorse; James should never have surrendered his brother to the Speed Demons of racing.
Racing Speed Daemons
The rain slicked down the window and blurred the dim lights outside. The muggy clinical heat of the hospital caused the wet leather jacket of James to steam slightly. People were looking at him as if the helmet in his hands was a severed head.
Jake was lying on his bed, beside James. Everything about him, his calm expression, his relaxed muscles and his comfortable slouch, made it look as if he would wake up any minute. But it had been five months since the crash, and Jake had never opened his eyes. James knew it too well, the longer his brother slept in his coma, the less likely he would ever come back.
James closed his eyes, trying to reminisce the good old days. Jake and he had used to be very happy playing sports everyday. Jake had always been an outstanding sportsman, impressing everybody with his agile movement and admirable speed. It had always been safe and secure back then. However, the moment James brought home his new motorbike, Jake had become a different man. He had been so fascinated by the machine such that he had spent hours after hours practicing riding it in the neighbourhood, neglecting his sports career. At first, James had been delighted to see Jake having fun, but when he realised that Jake had been possessed by the exhilarating and addictive speed of the race, he had become afraid. Something had gone in his beloved brother.
That fateful day still came back and haunted James in his sleep. Five months ago, Jake had asked James to race with him along the highway, and reluctantly he had agreed. They had walked their bikes towards the starting point, James deep in his thought. After putting on his helmet, Jake had reached eighty, one hundred, and even one hundred twenty miles per hour in just five minutes. James had tightened his grip on the handles, alarmed. He had tried to tell Jake to slow down through the thick glass of his helmet, but his brother had been really high; he had merely smirked before speeding up. When Jake reached one hundred and fifty miles per hour, James had decided to give up. He had pulled his brake and decided to wait for his aggressive brother to get his imaginary victory. He had sworn that it would be the last time he would ever race with Jake again; and true enough, it had been the last time he could ever race with Jake. It had happened in just a blink of an eye: Jake's uncontrollable motorbike had crashed right into an approaching truck on the highway; he had tried to jump out of the motorbike before it had crashed, and he had landed on the road, bleeding and broken. It had been too late to take him to the hospital. The blinding light of the truck would haunt James forever unless his brother came back from his coma.
The nurse showed James the exit way; time for visiting had been over. Jake was not a person anymore; he was just a piece of meat waiting to be rotten. Jake was not no longer there. Tears scalded his eyes as he came out into the rain-washed road. It was too late for remorse; James should never have surrendered his brother to the Speed Demons of racing.