Run.

As I was sprinting to the back meadows I realised something was different. I'd run this way every day; my record was one minute thirty seven. But I was no longer running with those words skimming across my brain. "This is it." I'd tell myself. "This is the grand finals, the race to end all races. All you have to do is win, then you'll never have to run again." All false promises. I can never stop running, whether I want it to or not. Running was in my blood, and every day I cursed my blood just for that. But the hope of leaving the competitive world behind got me to run faster, like a burst of energy, even if it was just running from the house to the back meadows. But today I didn't think of that hope, I didn't try to push myself, I didn't think of anything at all, just how good it felt to move without demand. I had never noticed how the wind brushed past my face and through my hair. I had never noticed how it felt sometime to run so fast it was like i was flying. I just ran - for what reason, I don't know. To escape maybe? Nevertheless I found myself running faster than I ever have before. I was in the meadows before I knew it. Out from the dense bush land that sealed the sky from the ground, bursting through the canopy and into the powerful warmth of the sunset. I checked my watch, briefly entering my competitive frame of thought. One minute twenty six! I couldn't believe how quickly I made it there.
I could hear my father screaming from the house. My name echoed through the farm. His voice could have echoed through the whole town. But I couldn't stop now. I really was running my last race - the race that my whole career, my whole life depended on. I kept running, reaching the boarder of the farm. I wasn't going to stop, but I didn't know where I was going to go. But far away from here was the destination.