A Race, Remembered

Our bodies, aligned and frozen in stature. The indistinct shouting’s became faded, enveloped by the stillness of the silence. The countdown began. A second, but hours, they were. The muted chanting’s, nothing more than broken whispers of a hushed chorus. With each hollow resonance, the man in khaki shirt inched his gun further and further as he aimed the sky. He clutched the handle tightly and squeezed the trigger. The bang reverberated for seconds as entrails of wispy smoke flowed endlessly from its mouth. Gone was the haunting odiousness of the calm. A resounding presence so deafening, its reality conquered the distortions of time and sound. In an instant, our leading arm and leg sliced the atmosphere. Like machines of memory mimicry, our strides were bountiful, but equal nonetheless. We battled measures of inches as the torrent winds became resistant and a factor against fatigue. To my left, a slow of weary anguish as the distance became greater until he was visible at blinds eye no more. To my right, a constant fluidity of mechanics that showed no signs of slowing, but instead, increase. Titans, we were. Warring for the smallest gain as the finish line stood a beacon of end. With a shutter of an eye, we slowed and a surge of overlapping cheers followed.