Death Before Surrender

His alarm sounded at the usual 7.00am. Following some excited thoughts about
what lay ahead of him that day, he climbed down from his bed. He had little to do before
leaving his familys home--a quick wash and breakfast, followed by dressing in his
deliberately-crafted, smart college outfit. While most opted for the baggy-trousers-anduntucked-shirt look, he felt inspiration from the 1960s and chose to look sharp with wellfitted trousers and shirt, and a tie that, in an act of seeming non-conformity, he wore with
the knot fully up to his shirt collar.
Bye Mum, bye Dad, he shouted, leaving the house. And thanks, Dad, he
added with a grin.
In the garage, he came across a bike so beautiful that his breathe was taken away.
He found it hard to believe that it was now his. For the past few decades, it had belonged
to his father. However, using it little in recent times, his father had decided to pass it on
to his son for his recent eighteenth birthday. There could be no better present; bicycles
this beautiful werent even made anymore.
Upon opening the garage door, his friends came into view. And while they were
happy to see him as usual, their attention was on the exquisite piece of engineering that
carried him.
Pretty nice, huh? he said with a smile. Keep up, he smirked, before speeding
onto the road. While his bike was admired, the little gang had surprisingly nice cycles for
college kids. Some were inherited, some were the product of life savings, while others
were scrounged and put together by the team of young mechanics.
No one else on the road had a chance at keeping up with them (and not just in
speed). The gang had it all--the looks, the brains--everything. The leader of the pack,
with his new bike, particularly flew in life. Effortlessly completing his A-Levels in
maths, engineering and art, he actually enjoyed what he was doing. For him, there was
no logic to working towards a job just because it was deemed worthy by society--neither
did he constantly strive to please parents as many did at his school. However, he held his
parents in high esteem, especially for their encouragement of sustainable contentment in
life. And with this, he ran, immersing himself in life; passion could be seen in everything
he did.
His team moved through the city on their trek to college. Riding like they owned
the road, they werent afraid of anything. It wasnt uncommon to receive shouts and
complaints from drivers, but the riders' actions were always reasoned for the greater
good. They were elitist without a doubt, but only in the sense that they strove to be great
and thoughtful individuals and expected others to do so also.
A few days earlier, for example, they had decided to let a group of primary
children cross the road in front of them. Their bikes in a line across the busy road, cars
piled up behind them with horns blaring, drivers shouting. Smiling, one of the larger
crew members dismounted his bike to face the mob. Turning around, the smile vanished
in an instance as he shouted, What are you going to do about it! with arms in the air.
The drivers fell silent; as if anybody would take on such a group of young men in the
prime of their lives. It amused the whole group of riders their displayed aggression was
simply an act.
They were not in the habit of interacting with people in this manner. Rather, in

general conversation with them, you would rarely even hear negativity. But they
understood the world and its inhabitants. They knew that in order to get things done, it
sometimes is necessary to sink down to the same level as others.
On this particular morning, about halfway through their journey, the friends had
stopped at a traffic light when they were joined from behind by a cycling club.
Considering themselves better than all other road-users, the members of the club made
their way past the waiting youthful cyclists, settling in front of them. Now, when such a
thing happens, it often results in arguments. However, the group of students knew that
actions speak louder than words. They also were happy to admit that they found it hard
to resist some competition.
At green, everyone set off. Holding back at first, the leader of the pack, riding
confidently on his new bike, gave a point in the general direction of the group of cycling
group. Weaving in and out, most of the students struck the heart of the cycling club,
while a few contained them on the flanks. Smiles from the youngsters were met with
angry glares from the older riders on their over-priced bikes.
The leader of the pack in particular found such seriousness laughable. He saw it
everywhere--in his classmates, in his teachers, in almost everyone he crossed paths with.
There were of course exceptions--his family, for example, and of course his crewmates.
And there was of course the girl...
A sure sign that they were closer to school now, more students began appearing
on the street, mostly on foot. The crew of cyclists received countless shouts (this time
positive)--so many that unknowing outsiders could have mistaken them for celebrities.
They of course didnt believe in the concept of celebrity, as it had no relevance to being
truly great individuals. But they were human, and as such, enjoyed the positive attention
that they received from all the different groups in the school.
Moving increasingly close to school, members of the gang began peeling away.
Most having girlfriends, they enjoyed stopping to see their female company in the
morning (even if secretly, their crew was priority number one). Despite their popularity,
several in the group didnt have girlfriends. They could have had any girl in the school,
and yet, they chose not to. Due to their high standards, it was widely known that some of
them were simply waiting for the right girl to come along. They knew it could happen
next week, next year, or perhaps even never; and they were prepared for all three. Many
would be ridiculed for such actions; these individuals were revered as legends for it.
Riding to the school gates, three cyclists remained.
See you at practice after school, one of them said before he and another headed
to the bike racks. The final rider dismounted from his elegant new bike, constructed in
Italy years before, and headed towards a girl smiling at him from just inside the gates.
Morning beautiful, he whispered in her ear, kissing her soft lips.
Arm-in-arm, he walked her through the campus--among the familiar old trees that
towered above them. Surrounding the two youngsters were the ageing buildings that had
sheltered the hundreds of thousands of young people that had passed through over the
decades. He understood space and time, felt at peace with the depths of reality.
We are truly alive, he murmured with a smile, his eyes towards the dark leaves
floating down from above them.