1896 Olympic Marathon. Public domain photo by Burton Holmes. (Via Flash! Friday)
Silent Struggles
We have been at war now for a while, you and I. Struggling silently; fighting for
precedence. Have come at last to know
each other intimately, one with each other, as you coax me towards your finish
line, sweat browed and queasy. I will
not rush to get there. I know how this
race ends. Still, sleep shuts you out,
sometimes – until I wake again to light.
Once more round the track, perhaps?
Our exertions have pared me to planes and edges; a
featherweight run ragged by the battle; not yet down and out for the
count. Not beaten. Not yet, my corporeal competitor. Not yet – thought I lag behind a little,
breath rattling. You are in front, back
to me – a challenge in target. To
reach. To move beyond. A marathon endurance without training enough
to accomplish the feat, so it seems. I
am no Olympiad, I know. Your path
stretches out before me. Still. I crawl forwards.
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My entry for Flash-Friday-Vol-2-40. This one received an Honourable Mention and lovely feedback, which made for really pleasant reading. I really didn't expect to place, considering how many great stories were submitted!
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