The Rental

Reader Advisory
The following story has been associated with reports of mild itching during and immediately after reading.
If you experience unusual sensations on your arms, legs, neck, or back while reading:
Stop immediately.
Wash affected areas thoroughly with soap and water.
Avoid touching your face, eyes, or mouth.
Do not continue reading until symptoms have subsided.
These precautions are probably unnecessary.
Probably.

I was already late.
The invitation didn't say what the premiere was for.
It didn't need to.
The countdown in the corner of my phone was enough.
00:18:07
If I missed it...
I knew I'd regret it forever.

The bike rental station sat empty except for one.
Flight capable.
Fully charged.
I scanned the code.
The handlebars unlocked with a cheerful click.
The screen flashed.
Estimated arrival: 6 minutes.
Perfect.

The first launch was incredible.
The bike shot into the air so quickly my stomach stayed behind.
For a moment I thought I'd found the fastest way across the city.
Then the nose dipped.
The bike arced gently back toward the ground.
It landed exactly where it had started.
Almost.

I frowned.
Tried again.
Straight up.
Beautiful.
Then down.
Again.

Third attempt.
Same thing.
Perfect climb.
Perfect fall.
No distance.

The countdown kept moving.
00:15:42

I sighed.
Switched Flight Mode off.
The wheels settled onto the pavement.
I pushed forward.
Immediately...
I started making progress.
Not spectacular progress.
Just...
constant.
The buildings actually began moving past me.
Every second took me somewhere.
It wasn't as fast as flying.
It was much faster than going nowhere.

Traffic opened.
The bike was astonishingly quick on the road.
I passed riders still launching themselves into graceful arcs over intersections.
Every one of them landed only a little farther ahead.
I simply kept riding.
One street.
Then another.
The timer kept falling.
The distance kept shrinking.

I almost laughed.
Maybe nobody had realised these things worked better on the ground.

The navigation chimed.
Return station ahead.
Good.

Then...
the road ended.
A chain-link fence blocked the entrance.
Everything beyond it had been swallowed by weeds.
The trees had grown across the pavement.
Nature had reclaimed the parking lot years ago.
The only thing still visible...
was the solar-powered bike return dock.
A single green light blinked patiently in the middle of it all.
Waiting.

There were bikes everywhere.
Half buried beneath vines.
One hanging through a broken fence.
Another lying upside down in a ditch.
Their little rental lights still blinking.
Nobody had come back for them.
Or maybe...
nobody had come back.

A weathered sign leaned sideways.

⚠ RESTRICTED ACCESS
Bike Return Station Closed
Maintenance Suspended
PARASITE ZONE
DO NOT ENTER
Alternate Return Station → 4.8 km

I looked at the countdown.
00:04:13
Four point eight kilometres.
No chance.

"It's only fifty metres."

The fence was already bent where other people had climbed through.
I squeezed between the wires.
The weeds brushed my legs.
The air felt strangely still.
No birds.
No traffic.
Nothing.

The dock chirped happily as I rolled the bike into place.
Rental Complete.
Thank you for choosing EcoRide.
★★★★★
A message appeared beneath it.
Late return fee waived.

I laughed.
"You're welcome."

I turned toward the exit.
Something itched.
Just above my ankle.
I scratched without stopping.
A few more steps.
Now my wrist.
I brushed at it.
Kept walking.
My neck.
Another quick scratch.
Then my forearm.
Both hands were brushing at myself now without really thinking about it.
My pace quickened.
The countdown was gone.
I hadn't even noticed when it disappeared.
Another itch.
Lower back.
Shoulder.
Ankle again.
I brushed harder.
Walked faster.
Tried not to think about it.
Tried very hard...
not to look.

Then I stopped.
For the first time...
I looked down.
I was wearing shorts.

I woke up.

The room was completely dark.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I reached for the bedside lamp.
Light flooded the room.
My legs.
Nothing.
My arms.
Nothing.
I laughed once.
Quietly.
Just a dream.
I switched the lamp off.
Rolled onto my side.
Closed my eyes.
...
Something itched.
Right in the middle of my back.
Exactly where I couldn't reach.

End

This story came from a dream.
One of those dreams that refuses to let go after you wake up.
I spent most of this week dealing with anxiety and a few panic attacks. My mind kept trying to convince me that every possible negative outcome was about to happen. Once anxiety gets hold of the steering wheel, it becomes remarkably creative.
I woke up after dreaming about those invisible parasites and genuinely couldn't get back to sleep. I remember checking my legs before finally laughing at myself.
When I started writing the story, something else appeared that hadn't been obvious in the dream.
The jet.
Every launch was exciting.
Every descent felt familiar.
It wasn't until I was writing that I realized it reminded me of a growth graph.
Hope.
Disappointment.
Hope.
Disappointment.
Again.
Then I noticed something else.
The moment I stopped trying to fly and simply travelled forward...
I actually started making progress.
Not spectacular progress.
Just steady progress.
I think that's the path I want to choose.
There's another part of me in this story too.
I've always had a strange relationship with warning signs.
Especially when they tell me not to do something.
There's a little voice in my head that immediately wants to know what's on the other side.
I suspect I'm not the only person with that problem.
Unfortunately, dreams don't usually reward curiosity.
They exaggerate consequences.
One thing that surprised me while writing this is how much darker the story became than anything I've written recently.
I don't mind that.
That darker part exists whether I write about it or not.
Ignoring it doesn't make it disappear.
For me, writing has become one of the healthiest places to leave those thoughts.
They don't stay trapped in my head.
They become stories instead.
The trick, I've learned, isn't pretending those thoughts don't exist.
It's acknowledging them...
and then moving on.
Yesterday I climbed Mount Royal.
Somewhere between the trees and the lookout, the noise in my head became much quieter.
Maybe that's all anxiety is asking for sometimes.
Not another solution.
Just a little more sky.
One last thing surprised me.
I don't think this story came from my imagination.
I think it came from my mind trying to solve a feeling it couldn't explain while I was awake.
That thought brings me a strange amount of comfort.
It makes me wonder how many stories are really just unanswered feelings, patiently waiting for somewhere to live.