They are the only ones in front of me. I am the only one behind them. Four boys running with skinny legs and red Adidas just like mine. Four who do not belong here, but in the Olympics. Four strong quick boys running against me. From where I am, I can hear their fast tireless steps. But my mom can not. She just sees me in last place.
Their strength is secret to the crowd, but not to me. They send ferocious looks back at me, hinting to stay back. They move up as I go down and grab the earth between every tiresome step. My toes bite the dirt with violent teeth and dust flies all over. This is how I keep.
Let me forget their reason for being, they’d all droop like tulips in a glass, each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep they say when I get stronger. They begin to weep.
They are too tired and too skinny to keep keeping. I begin to run strong against the wind that hits me like bricks. There is little left in me, but nothing left in them. Those four boys who had been so strong, sink like wet concrete. The boys approach but forget to reach. And I, whose only reason is to be, reach.