By Kellyanne Lynch
early 1997
Disclaimer:
Do I really need one? This was written about my friend, Peter Murphy, and I
don't think he's going to whoop me over it.
Summary: a weak runner gets
assistance
Dedication: Again, Mr. GQ himself'll probably never see this,
but this is dedicated to him anyway.
Rating: G
* Please email
matchbox20orbusted@yahoo.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or
words of wisdom.
--------------------------------------------------------
Doubting my ability to compete in the race, I stumble into the dust. I
am weary from using too much strength in running. Realizing that I am not
accomplishing anything is my downfull. Weak and dizzy, I bury my head into the
dirt. The gravel grinds against my face and limbs, but the pain is trifling
compared to the anguish of failure. No one shouts my name from the stands. No
one cares that I have fallen, except the runners who must maneuver around me. To
them, I am not even human; I am merely a roadblock.
Death calls me. It
beckons me to give up, to admit defeat and surrender. It gradually numbs the
excruciating effects of the race. Blocking out the heat of the sun, an icy grasp
separates reality from me. Having no strength to rebel against it, I allow its
sheltering wing to fold itself over me. Shutting my eyes, I can not see the loam
being kicked up into my face. The ground is no longer beneath me as I float into
unconsciousness, into extinction.
Before the wing has a chance to claime
me, it disappears. Two human amrs wrap themselves around my torso and lift me
out of the mud that had formed by my tears. Turning me around, the arms bring me
face to face with their owner.
The runner's T-shirt and shorts, stained
with hardships, are filthy from countless spills. His shoes, caked with grime,
tell the story of one who had endured much more than I. From his rose-toned ears
to the top of his head, miniature, loose strands of soft sandy sunshine crown
him. Concerned eyes gaze back into mine. His gripping arms gradually hold me
with less strength until I stand on my own. When this occurs, he releases me.
Grinning at my stability, he winks then runs off to rejoin the race.
What has happened puzzles me as I stand alone on the sidelines. Who is this boy?
Curiosity and interest draw me back into the race.
After running merely
a few moments, I recognize the boy as the track star. Though he is far ahead of
me, I have the confidence that he has given to me. Someday, I might just catch
up to him. Perhaps he will slow down and join me. Whatever the case, I must keep
running.