Lost Thoughts at Cape Race

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I had to write a story of fiction about race, and any definition or multiple definitions of the word. This is it.

Submitted: October 31, 2013

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Submitted: October 31, 2013

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An unidentified class stood amidst the 158th day of mist on Cape Race. Two boys huddled, not from fright or cold, but from the lack of optimism or elation. The mist, it seemed, had absorbed it from them.

“I swear, this place has a good way of muddling things up.” said one dreary face to the other.

“I understand your ache. I really do, but you’re being irrational racing away to this wretched cape.” complained his friend. He stepped back, perhaps to observe the similarly shaded skin in front of him then thought of something, laughed and sat beneath the fog. For a while, he rested there contemplating then asked with a blend of hope and taunt:

“What, my dear species, would be of you if you hadn’t lost it?”

“If I’d won?...Would I be celebrating? A victory, oh yes, no more than a pleasure of watching others lose in the race!” Sarcasm flowed through his speech so truly, that it almost caught his resting kin off-guard.

“What is it with you? You’re upset by the fact you lost, but resentful when I mention the idea of winning! What do you want?!”

“...I don’t know,” he answered, losing his gaze in his blurry surroundings,”I’ve won so many times, that a feeling doesn’t come with the gain anymore. I’ve accepted the fact that I always succeed...Shouldn’t I be bursting with joy every time I win?”

“You’re overthinking things. You’re confused, I know, but listen. So what, I’d say, if I lost a match for the first time. I wouldn’t go on venturing my lost thoughts to this cape. Such a gloomy cape at that. You know how many ships have wrecked near these shores? Too many to not feel this mist as ghosts themselves.” A cheery tone had returned to the loser’s friend. The loser managed a grin that illuminated his racing eyes, searching for the end of the fog.

“Now, stop your deep pondering. Your losing is a fact of positive experience.” The friend stretched his arms and rose from his sitting posture.

“Positive experience??,” he broke away from the vastness in front of him, and angrily spit out his reasons for discontent,”  What if you competed your whole life away with winnings, because decreed by your surroundings is it that you are to only win!”

“Decreed?”

“Expected.”

“By who?”

“My breed, perhaps...or maybe the entire world of stereotypical critics.” He answered solemnly.

“But look! You proved their foolish beliefs wrong! They sit now in awe of your losing, so truly you are a hero!”

“A hero? Do you congratulate every loser for their failure?”

“No, this applies only to you. Don’t you understand that you’ve broken a chain? Win, win, win, and suddenly lose! A victory, really. You have denied the right for others to base you off your race’s expectations!”

The once dreary face beamed, then worryingly asked.

“Doesn’t that make me apart from my family...my kind?”

“If you find scientific proof that every Asian has to win at everything, than yes.”

They both laughed and left the cape, abandoning the mist for some other troubled race.


© Copyright 2018 Toulouse Rigut. All rights reserved.

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