Every Sunday he took his bike and drove across town.
He would be gone all day; it was his weekly workout, that’s what the neighbors thought.
He rode his bike a few blocks; then he got off and hid it behind a bush. He looked left and right down the street, made sure nobody had followed him.
He snuck into the house like a thief and repeated the same when he left.
He was very careful; nobody was supposed to know that he had a boyfriend.
Perhaps one day he would be allowed to openly love and not be judged.
(Word count: 100)
Friday’s Fictioneers are held by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Every week she surprises us with a picture and asks us to write a 100-word story. “Make every word count,” she says, and so we try to follow her footsteps.