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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 24, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 24, 2016



Jeff ran towards the finish line. His lungs felt like fire and endorphins flooded his body as he looked straight ahead with a devilish smile. He was going to win this. It was what he lived for.

Ever since grade school and playground races during recess, Jeff had had a ridiculous idea in his head that he would be the best runner ever. Nothing had come along so far to dissuade him from this thought. Years later, he was still the fastest in his school; that was for sure. “Now to take on the rest of the world,” he had said.

With every race he won, the small spark inside him grew stronger, fueled by a naïve hope that he could eventually be the best, until he had nurtured it into a towering inferno.

Jeff then saw something out of the corner of his eye. Someone was catching up. Impossible. It happened anyway.

It was the new boy from the rival school. He took no notice of Jeff’s dreams and effortlessly passed him.

Jeff ran as if his life depended on it. Arms flailing. Legs blazing. Heart beating. Beating and beating.

His mind roared an unholy scream. If he didn’t pass him within the next second, it was over. Gasps of breath were stifled as he attempted to guide every last bit of focus he had towards the fast-approaching finish line.

Defeat. The word huffed and extinguished everything he had built up in his life so far. An intense burst of hatred burned throughout his body as he watched the other boy grow increasingly distant.

So this is what it feels like to be helpless, he thought, about to collapse as his feet gave up. Second place. Loser.

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