| Run The circles |
| Author: Minnie Rating: PG Category: Original Fiction Distribution: Please ask. Dedication: To F who doesn't let me give up Feedback: Yes, please. Author's Note: Eureka, I've discovered exercise. Running, that is. Archive Date: 10/3/2002 You stop to catch your breath, your feet unceremoniously planting themselves inside the white '8' mark etched on the hard red clay surface of the track beneath you. Air reaches in and fills your lungs and you croak, "We're running around in circles." Your partner slows down, barely winded, and runs in place next to you. "Duh. We're on a race track. Of course, we're running around in circles." You notice his sneakers tapping the '7' mark in steady rhythm, flashes of blue rubber obscuring the top of the number. "I can see that." A ghost of a smile hovers about your lips as a mumble to the earth slips out. "That's not what I meant." He hears you over the slap and crunch, the distinct rhythm pounding on the ground, and doesn't stop moving. "What did you mean?" "I don't know what we're doing. We. Us. This." Your hands motion the space between you and you take small steps to the middle of the '8'. The bridge connecting the loops dissolves. "You want to stop this?" He stops. "And do what?" You move. A stride away from him and there are no more marks, no numbers in front of you. "What do you want?" You turn your head back as you hear a slight wisp in his tone. Something almost there. An opening, you think. Your tongue wraps itself around "More" but before the word becomes solid, you catch him staring at the empty stretch of the straightaway, a certain longing in his eyes. You rush out, "I want ... not to get run over by those joggers behind us?" Not quite a plea, not quite appeasement, because the backdrop of figures in athletic suits *are* a dozen steps away. You haven't forgotten that you're sharing this track with others. "I thought we were being serious here." You are. You were. But. The open stretch threatens to close in. You manage a tight half-grin and a glib, "I *am* serious. Those joggers look like they want to feed us their dust." He snorts, shakes his head and reaches out for your hand. He tugs on it until you're back at his side, shoulders parallel. A small nudge and his hand drops from yours. "C'mon then. I'll race you." He sprints towards the finish line and you notice the '1' on the back of his faded t-shirt. "Hey, wait up! You're not leaving me behind." -End- HOME ORIGINAL FICTION FAN FICTION |