seven

haha i forgot that i hadn't written "seven". they weren't that special anyway, but anyway. here, seventeen days after i said it would have appeared, it is.

" run run run run run run run run run run run run run" Chris panted the word with every stride, "run, keep up the pace, run, feel your heart race, run, you've gotta keep going, run, keep the blood flowing, run, run, run" His feet slapped the footpath and propelled him forward, taking him further and futher towards his 48th lap. Past ladies with pushers, past teenage girls decked out in fitness gear jogging in groups and laughing, past the old man and his wife feeding the ducks, past the floral clock, past a group of kids climbing (and falling out of) trees, he ran. He often wondered what would happen if he stopped now, if he could stop now. But he had to reach 50 laps, he had to. It wasn't a life or death situation, no one was chasing him. But if he stumbled and fell now, he knew his spirit would be crushed and he would never run again. In his mine it was the decider between his ambition to run in the olympics or just settle down at a desk job. Although he would never be able to be happy or content with the latter, he saw it as the only other option.
He passed the marker tree. One more lap, one more and I'm there. five hundred more metres, seven hundred strides, twenty-three trees and i'm there, he thought.
A pain rippled along his left calf and stiked at his knee. He flinched, and stumbled a little, but did not fall nor drop his mind set, he was going to do this. Every landing on his left foot clentched his muscles with agonising torment. His eyes swelled with tears. Four more trees, now just three.
Searing heat burned at his calf, his knee stiffened and in one horrific moment, his leg gave way. He didn't skip, he didn't stumble, he didn't skid, he bounced. It was amazing that such momentum could have been stopped with his impact on the concrete footpath. He looked up wearily, his face was scratched and he had twigs in his hair. There, stretching tall above him was the marker tree. He reached out his hand and touched it, feeling a warm, satisfied feeling spread from his hand. I made it, he thought smiling to himself.
"Oh my god are you okay?" A young guy rushed over to him.
"Yeah thanks," chris replied, accepting the young man's hand to lever himself up, "i'm better than I've even been"

(i was going to go on with chris needed to go to hospital because he had torn a ligament in his leg, forcing him to give up running forever. But happy endings are much more... happy. peace out people)