My legs, long and sun-browned, stretch miles ahead, pumping tired muscles to the limit. I swing my arms as I sprint, knowing somehow, this is my last race. I drive my arms forward faster, as if my arms alone can propel me beyond to the finish line. I can already see the black and white checkered flags through sweat blurred eyes and my ears hear nothing but my own rushing blood and thundering heartbeat.
This competition is special. I can feel it buzzing through the air. It zings in the deep breaths I take and marks my mouth with a sweet lemon victory. I run faster and faster, knowing no one, not even my mind, can reach me in my glory. I couldn't stop even if I tried.
But I am growing tired and the flags seem so far away suddenly. My breath begins to sh-sh-shudder out of me, shakily, as if I've already lost.
But I have not trained for years to give in. My mind, like my muscles, is strong and tough and it can take whatever this stretch of track will bring.
I can do this.
I will do this.
Faster, my mind whispers; a brush of encouragement. Faster, faster! My breath comes strong again, and my legs keep pumping. Go, go, go! A tiny voice sneaks in; you're going too fast... you're going to breeaaaakkkkkkk... The voice lilts, stroking my senses, telling me, You deserve a litttllleeee rest, maybe a littttllleeee slower. You're already ahead, why not take a rest?
I frown, and push harder, harder, harder. I feel like I will break. No! Faster, faster, FASTER! I must go faster. I must go faster. ImustgofasterImustgofasterImustgofaster!!!! A sharp cry startles me and I realize it is me. My hands, clenched too tight, have burrowed their nails deep under my skin, bringing small rivulets of blood. They run over my fingers and stick to my palm. No matter. I must go faster!
It's so close. They're so close.
The flags. They are literally right there. I could just... reach out; touch them. They're right there. I stretch out longing arms and realize I have no hands. NO!!! What is happening?
My scene crumbles before me and I bolt upwards in the hospital bed. My dream dissipates into the sterile, silent air.
What? Did I faint during the race? Was that lilting voice right? Did I breeaaakkkk? Like an old china doll? The race...the race. What happened? They must've stopped it right? I haven't lost right? I will be able to redo my event? I think so. They can't continue a race if someone becomes injured. I smile triumphantly, swathed in thin cotton sheets.
A nurse sits by and is talking on the phone. I catch bits and pieces of her conversation. It doesn't make any sense though. "Yeah, Fran, I'm stuck here babysitting that girl. Yeah. I know, right? People say she used to be like a huge track star." She pauses for a moment. "Yeah, it's sad right? She had such a good future. But she's kinda psycho now. Did you hear what happened the first time she woke?"
I don't understand. She can't be talking about me, surely. She can't be. I wasn't a huge track star before. I am a huge track star. Who is this other girl this nurse is talking about?
"I know right?" She twirls the phone cable between long, scarlett-painted nails. "Yeah. Since when did I get stuck with in the suicide department?"
I feel bad for this girl she talks about. Suicide? Maybe she did badly in a race? I make a moaning noise, wanting water and the nurse girl jumps twenty feet.
"Yeah Fran, I gotta go. The girl just woke up. I have to give her the anti-depression pills now," she whispers into the phone. Something clicks inside. No. No. My eyes flicker down. Maroons stains across lumpy white gauze decorate my wrists. What? No. This is all wrong. I run! I don't commit suicide. I run!
I swing my legs out and I try to do the one thing I've ever really needed to do. I need to run away. Thye've got the wrong person. Bandaged the wrong person. This... It can't be. Something goes wrong with my basic functions and only one leg swings out. My weak leg; the left one. I try again. It doesn't work. What is going on? The nurse girl is everywhere, trying to shove me back on, but I am relentless.
Finally, I decide my leg must've fallen alseep and I shift my hips instead, expecting to drag a heavy dead weight along with the movement.
But all that emerges from beneath the hospital sheets is a stump.
I am numb. My mind is blank.
I do not have a right leg. I have the top of a thigh and then nothing. There is no leg here. I lack a leg.
Like a dam flooding, my mind breaks with a crunch only audible to me. A screechy, high-pitched noise fills the silence and turns it black. Dimly, somewhere I recognize it as me. Blurred words rush out from behind a veil of blindness, though my eyes are still wide open. Wide open but unseeing.
Get the tranquilizer! Quickly!
Men in white pour into the room. They look to be shouting, but the screech rises above and drowns them out. I cannot hear nor feel anymore. All I can do is stare at the whiteness that is filling my vision. A sharp pain stabs into the crook of my elbow and I am suddenly dizzy. I am fading away. Away, away, away. I hope I will stay gone.
But a last thought shoots through my mind before oblivion comes.
I will never run again.
And then I realize: No! This is all a lie! Because I have both legs! I am running! My legs, long and sun-browned, stretch miles ahead, pumping tired muscles to the limit. I swing my arms as I sprint, knowing somehow, this is my last race, as if my arms alone can propel me beyond to the finish line.
