Sentry Merged Left ~ Chapter 1

Not too long ago, on a muggy Thursday evening in late August, sixteen-year-old Sentry set out upon a bicycle ride.

It was a ride that would soon change the course of his young life.

Now before this ride, Sentry would describe being sixteen as awful and awkward and full of various injustices. Nothing was ever fair and he was indeed a victim, receiving daily doses of horrific and undeserved treatment from someone in authority over him.

To begin with, Sentry endured no end of torment due to his rather unusual first name. For this, he blamed his parents. Who would do such a thing?

In fact, Sentry was often asked if his was a family name, to which he always responded, “It is now.”

Still, despite the idiocy of their choice in giving him such a ridiculous name, weathering that abuse had become mostly tolerable, especially when compared to something of more pressing concern. Something far more humiliating.

You see, Sentry (being properly and legally licensed to drive a car since early spring) was unduly forced, for the entirety of the summer, to rely not upon a motor vehicle, but instead upon the aforementioned bicycle as his main form of transportation.

Making matters worse – much, much worse – was that Sentry's friends (nearly all of them) were rich. And they each drove around in their very own cars as if it was natural and normal and expected. Sentry's parents would not extend the same courtesy, though, and used the convenient excuse of not having enough money for such luxuries, as if that would somehow pacify their son.

Additionally, they did not think it wise that he should borrow one of their cars, unless of course, they were also present as passengers. This was utterly unacceptable to Sentry, who felt this to be harassment, and yet another cruel feature of their ongoing persecution.

Other tales of woe could certainly be shared, but suffice it to say, the ride Sentry would take on this muggy night was indeed on a bicycle, and it was obviously a quite necessary ride to clear his awkward, tormented, abused, harassed and altogether persecuted sixteen-year-old head.

And it was on this sad form of transportation that Sentry turned westward, as he had on many occasions over the summer, away from his home and quickly on toward the last shadings of daylight. The breeze cooled him as he picked up speed and veered onto a hilly and bendy country road bordering thick woods to the south – woods which came alive with the sounds of the night and always seemed to usher in the darkness a little earlier than the rest of his town.

The sharp turns in the road concealed the potential of traffic in either direction, so he paid close attention to what was coming over each rise and around each bend. Having no lights on his bike, Sentry presumed correctly that his reflectors would be of little use, especially if a passing driver couldn't see him until the last minute.

Still, for an otherwise well-traveled road, it seemed as if he was all alone, and had been for quite some time. It felt right and good, however, for Sentry was the oldest of four children and because of this, he was rarely alone, but for these evening rides.

The sounds of the forest were nearing a fevered pitch and up ahead, there was a short flat stretch in the road. Sentry took a brief opportunity to take his hands off the handlebars and look up at the dim August moon, all the while marveling at his ability to balance.

The next hill approached more suddenly than anticipated, so he quickly regained control of his bike.

For the first time that night, there was light up ahead; yet it was pale and blinking in the creeping dusk – not the ever-intensifying white brightness of headlights.

As he cleared the crest of the hill, he discovered the source of it: a big, yellow road construction sign with an arrow pointing south, toward the woods. It demanded action, to merge left, for it signaled construction that was underway immediately, or very soon afterward.

So, Sentry merged left, even on his bike.

As he passed by, there was a clicking sound that became noticeable; the bulbs switching on and off. He rode further, just beyond the arrow, but there was nothing to suggest the reason for the sign. No construction, no torn up road. No barrels. No work crew.

He continued up over the next hill and down the road a bit.

Still nothing.

So, Sentry circled back to the solitary arrow pointing south, blinking, and clicking with silence in between. The air felt stifling to him and he was more alone than ever now, on the border of the woods, an ever darkening scene around him.

The night creatures and insects stopped chirping, their concert over for the moment. He should have turned around and returned home, but instead he laid his bike down on the ground, on the side of the road, behind the big sign, its construction arrow illuminating his surroundings as if on cue.

Blinking, clicking. Blinking, clicking.

And right about then, a whimper was heard, and a girl quite familiar to Sentry emerged from the woods, pale and panting, her dress torn.