A Moment in Time

I wrote this a few years ago, when it happened to a friend of the family. Any suggestions on how to make it better are welcome. This was my first short story.






"But why can't I go? It's just going to be a few guys, its not like it's a party!"
Justin turned and looked at his parents, who were sitting on the couch.
"We trust you Justin, but we don't know this person or his parents. We just don't like the idea of you going." His mother shook her head, "I'm sorry but the answer is still no."
Justin threw his hands in the air and stomped off. As he reached his bedroom door he turned to say something but was too angry, so instead he walked into his room and slammed the door.
"Slam that door one more time, and I'll take it off!" His father yelled.

"This is bullshit," Justin kicked his desk and watched as books and trinkets tumbled down onto the floor.
He half-heartedly kicked some of his belongings around on the floor, then got to his knees to look under his bed.
"Where the hell is it?!" He growled in anger.
He ripped his bedroom door open.
"Where have you put my bike helmet?"
"It's in your room, if your bothered to clean it every once in a while, you'd be able to find your stuff more easily," his mother replied, continuing to fold washing.
"Whatever."
Justin continued to search his room, the anger boiling within him. He grabbed his helmet, which was under a dirty shirt, his gloves and tugged on his riding pants and walked out of his room through the lounge and stepped outside.
"I'm going for a ride," he said to no one in particular, before straddling his dirt bike and roaring off down a solitary dirt track into the thick bushland of their 10 hectare property.

Justin's mum shook her head in disappointment as his father looked up at the clock on their kitchen wall.
"He had better not have gone to that boy's house."
"I'm sure he hasn't, but just to be sure, did you want to call them?" Justin's father replied.
"Maybe his still riding around, we'll give it another half hour then call."

"Hello? Ryan? Yes, this is Justin's mum. Is Justin there?"
Silence.
"His not…has he stopped by at all? No. Ok."
More silence.
"No everything is fine. If he does turn up could you ask him to call. Thank you."
Justin's mum looked up at Peter, tears welling in her warm, chocolate brown eyes.
"I know something's wrong, he would never just disappear like this."
Peter gathered his wife up into his arms, "It's ok honey, everything's ok. Maybe he just need some more time to cool off. There's no sense in looking for him now, at night time, we'll wait until the morning and if he hasn't come back I'll look around."
Kate pulled away from her husband and looked up at him, uncertainty now filled her eyes but she nodded.
"Ok," he whispered, gently guiding her towards their bedroom. "Now we just need to get some sleep."

She bolted down the hall, through the lounge and into her sons room. She looked around; from the unmade bed to the books and ornaments strewn across the floor and put a shaking hand to her mouth.
"His bikes not here, I'm going out to look for him, along the track," John called to his wife, his voice shaking slightly.
She came to the door, "I want to come."
"No," he replied, "you'll need to stay here, in case he comes back."
Kate watched as he turned and walked across the patio and along the dirt track before disappearing into the dense bush.

"Justin…Justin…JUSTIN!"
His father had been walking for over an hour, his nerves were on edge and his mind was reeling. He regreted deaply leaving the situation the way they did with Justin. They should have sorted it out and not left it unfinished, with him angry and hurt.
John rounded a sharp corner and what he saw before him caused the very fabris of his being to slowly crumble leaving him unable to move and barely able to breathe.
Justin's bike lay half in the scrub on the right side of the track. Further on in the middle of the track, lay Justin. Motionless. His body twisted at an odd angle. His face, frozen, in an expression of shock and pain. His body caked in dirt and and dried blood.
John sucked in some air, his hand grasping his chest as he sank slowly to his knees. His hands moved to his face as if sub-consiously trying to shield him from the horror that lay ahead.
"God, no," he half gurgled, sucking in more air.
John crawled along the rocky, dirt path towards his only child. Life around him seemed to have been silenced and the sky darkened. All John could hear was the dull thud of his heart. He kneeled close to his son and held his body tightly in his arms. His skin still warm, but growing colder the longer John held him.
After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled himself together as best he could, stood with his sons lifeless body falling limply in his arms and began the heart-wrenching journey back through the bush, to confirm a parents worst nightmare.

John and Kate stood hand in hand as they gazed forlornly around the parlor, from the series of photo's showing the life of their son, to the crowd of morning friends and relatives.
The day had finally come for their's sons funeral, the day they had to say their finally good-bye. One that forced them to realise, their son was never coming back.
Kate and John both looked together out at the close group of people, who's lives and hearts had been touched by their son. Their Justin. And together they knew, that they could survive the grief, and the voice in their heads saying "If only I'd" – to a time that they could finally move on from that moment – but never forget.