Running...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A really really short story I wrote about a year ago. More an analogy than anything else. Read it?

Submitted: August 17, 2009

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Submitted: August 17, 2009

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Running. His feet pounded the ground each step with more force than the last. Each collision between earth and heel, devestating to his tired legs. He dare not look back. He dare not stop or slow his pace. The very thought of what was behind him was enough to shatter whatever it was he had left. The icy air he swallowed bit at his screaming lungs. He was sickened by the sound of his own struggled breaths. Tears from eye-stinging air ran down his cheeks. He wished bitterly that the air was all that was causing them. But he knew better. Curse this knowing. His mind groped for ignorance. How long had he been running? Had he ever done anything else? He tasted vomit. At any second he felt he would break. Shatter into a million pieces. He longed for that if it meant he could rest. The sound behind him grew louder and thus closer. Fear began to grip his throat. Before it was difficult to breathe. Now it was as though impossible. He ran. Hoping it was fast enough. Though he'd known from the beginning it wouldn't. Then he felt it. In one step he knew. It was over. Something wasnt right with this final stride. The last desperate step. The ground shifted beneath him and he fell. The shock of constant motion to none accelerated him a few more feet after hitting the ground. He lay face down, sucking in oxygen for the first time in what seemed like years. This one small luxury would be his last. He heard the final steps behind him.


Whats behind you may not kill you. But running from it always will.


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