He was afraid? "Goddamnit!" he said to the trees. All was good, they didn't mind his harsh words. "How am I so afraid! What am I so afraid of?" Fear pierced his chest, punctuating each unspoken syllable with a successive stab. He was afraid of change. "NO I'M NOT!" He feared the judge, the persecutor, a familiar face. The fears of hate, prospectual hate, from those who previously approved; from those who had invested hope in his potential as being a youth. He was well enough intelligent at that. THEY BELIEVED IN HIM! ...and he could let them down. NO! He WOULD let them down. He let out an intense audible cry like that of an enraged moose. "RRRRRROOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"I have no training, no natural skill, or common sense! Not like Jacob, not like WILLIAM FUCKING TATE!" He screamed his self-pitied anger at a mottled patch of evergreens; the anger in his voice now matching his aggressive pushes against the petals of his bike.
He looked down in surprise at his feet and let off the petals. His anger drained to fear and disgust, but the pity remained. For a moment he disliked himself more than he thought was ever humanly possible. He was always the nicest person; and how low had this situation sunken him?
He slumped onto the handlebars with a sigh and coasted the bike onto a patch of grass at the side of the road. Wildflowers shuffled out of the way as Bart slumped from his bike and let it rest sideways on the edge of the pavement. Cool north winds carrying clean crisp air from the tops of the peaks blew a tear from his eye onto a tuft of dandelions.
*Note: needs transition between this paragraph and the previous one. Too much of a jump in the level of anger.
