As children my brother and I would go cycling together, hoping to discover the infinite downhill loop that was rumoured to be hidden within the country roads of our childhood.
We knew it to be impossible – a route that was downhill all the way, bringing you back to the start without an uphill stretch. An urban legend of the countryside, a geographical impossibility. Still we searched, happy with our own company and the goal we knew to be impossible.
As we became adults we went our separate ways, but continued to search in our own individual way. I was to build a chain of financially unsuccessful theme parks, constructing roller coaster versions of a downhill route, supported by a mechanical uphill pull. It was as close as physically possible to our dream, but ultimately left me broken and in financial ruin.
My brother bought a motorbike. It killed him on his first journey out, but I would still like to think he came closest to our dream of happiness.
170 words. A story based on the photo prompt from Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers .
Photo (c) Dorothy