Out of the Mouths

They roared into town in a cloud of dust, skidding to a stop in the main street. They turned off their engines and dismounted; not one under six feet tall, bearded and dressed in their Hell’s Angels leathers.

The leader looked around, spotted a small diner across the road and strode towards it, closely tailed by the rest of the gang.

A group of locals gathered outside the Post Office, not far from where the Harley Davidsons waited. All eyes stared toward the diner and each took a step back as the gang emerged clutching burgers and bottles of Coke.

Back on the pavement next to their bikes, the bikers ate ravenously and swigged from the bottles of Coke before dropping the litter to the ground. The crowd let out a gasp. The leader glared towards them. Silence.

Suddenly, a small girl about five years old, broke away from the crowd and stomped towards the bikers, an angry frown above her flashing blue eyes.

The crowd gasped again and held its collective breath, unable to move. Her mother froze. She tried to call her daughter but nothing came and she stood gaping like a goldfish. Her two-year-old son laughed, bouncing excitedly up and down on his tricycle.

‘Excuse me,’ said the little girl, standing before the leader with her hands on her hips. ‘I think you and your friends should pick up your litter. You need to do it for the environment otherwise there won’t be a world when my brother and I grow up. He won’t get the chance to ride a motor bike and I won’t be able to be a doctor.’

The crowd gasped again. Her mother almost fainted. The gentleman next to her held her up. Her little boy clapped his chubby hands.

The leader stared at the little girl. She stared back.

The leader clicked his fingers. “Right, you heard the young lady,’ he said, and the bikers picked up their litter, being careful to separate the rubbish from recyclables.

Then they mounted their Harley Davidsons and rode out of town.