The Five-Minute Read

"The sound of my daughter’s world is a rhythmic tap, tap, tap.

It’s the sound of her white cane hitting the concrete. To most people, it’s just a noise. To me, it’s the sound of my heart walking outside my chest.

Luna is seven years old. She lost her sight two years ago due to a genetic condition we couldn’t stop. She’s brave. Braver than I’ll ever be. She insisted on walking to the corner store by herself today.

“I can do it, Daddy,” she said, adjusting her little pink sunglasses. “I know the way. Ten steps to the mailbox, turn left, thirty steps to the curb.”

I agreed, but I lied. I wasn’t going to let her walk alone.

I trailed her, about twenty feet back, idling my Harley in neutral so the rumble wouldn’t distract her, but close enough to intervene if she drifted too close to the road.

I watched her navigate the sidewalk. She was doing perfect. Her little face was focused, counting her steps. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, I saw them.

A group of four boys. Older, maybe twelve or thirteen. Wearing expensive sneakers and designer hoodies. They were laughing, pushing each other, taking up the whole sidewalk.

I revved my engine slightly, a warning growl. But they didn’t hear it over their own arrogance.

They saw Luna. They stopped.

I saw the leader, a kid with a messy mop of hair and a smirk that needed wiping off, step right in front of her.

Luna stopped. Her cane hit his sneaker.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice small and polite.

“Watch where you’re going, Blindy,” the kid sneered.

Before I could even kick the kickstand down, he reached out. He didn’t just block her. He snatched the cane right out of her hand.

“Oops,” he laughed, tossing it into the grass. “Fetch.”

Luna gasped, reaching out into empty air. “My cane! Please, give it back!”

“Find it yourself,” another boy laughed.

Then, the leader shoved her. Not a playful nudge. A hard, two-handed shove to her chest.

Luna is tiny. She went down hard. Her knees hit the concrete. Her hands scraped against the rough pavement as she frantically patted the ground, trying to find her eyes, trying to find the only thing that keeps her safe.

“Daddy?” she whimpered, panic rising in her voice.

The boys stood over her, laughing. They were filming it.

The world went red.

I didn’t bother putting the kickstand down. I dropped my bike. A $40,000 custom chopper, I let it crash onto its side on the asphalt. I didn’t care.

I didn’t run. I charged.

My boots hammered the pavement. The chains on my vest jingled like the bells of hell.

The boys were too busy laughing to hear me coming until my shadow eclipsed the sun over them.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached out and grabbed the leader by the collar of his expensive hoodie. I hoisted him up until his feet were dangling off the ground.

His laughter died instantly. His phone clattered to the sidewalk.

He looked into my eyes. I wasn’t wearing my sunglasses. He saw the scar that runs from my eyebrow to my jaw. He saw the ""Midnight Wolves"" patch on my chest. But mostly, he saw a father who was ready to tear the world apart.

“You think that’s funny?” I roared. My voice wasn’t human. It was the sound of a grizzly bear defending a cub.

The kid’s face went pale white. He started to stammer. “I… I was just…”

“SHE CAN’T SEE!” I screamed, shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. “SHE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD! AND YOU PUSHED HER?”

The other three boys froze. They looked at me, then at their friend dangling in the air, then at the massive biker gang tattoo on my forearm.

They didn’t run. They were too paralyzed by fear.

I pulled the kid’s face inches from mine.

“Pick it up,” I snarled, pointing to the cane in the grass with my free hand. “Pick. It. Up.”

As Facebook doesn't allow us to write more, you can read more under the comment section. If you don't see the link, you can adjust the Most Relevant Comments Option to All Comments"