Young Writers Society

Dedicated to David Gemmell, who died recently. The character Leon is totally and utterly based upon a character called Parmenion from Lion of Macedon who is also a runner, and at one time called him Leon to conceal his identity. This one's for you, David.

Lion of Athens


Run. Breathe. Run. Breathe. Win.

Leon held a slim lead, but it was still a lead. Taking the corner with large strides, he managed to scrape a few more yards over his closest pursuer. The crowd were screaming now; the arena was swarmed with thousands of eager spectators, the rows crushed to the full, surging forward and sideward as all strained to get a view. The sun was hidden behind some unwanted clouds in the sky, but the race was still a glittering spectacle to behold.

Leon, his tall body covered in sweat, panted with exhaustion. There were but three laps left, and the constant pounding of his feet on the dusty earth was beginning to take its painful toll. He lost another few yards. Too scared to brave a quick glance backward, he told himself any more decelerations would be met with defeat. His mind flickered back to the sprint at the Athens track, his body just inches ahead of Perdikkas at the final line. It had been scarily close, the spectre of defeat hanging over him the whole last straight.

It hung there now. He shook off the off-putting memory, and concentrated solely on the race.

Run. Breathe. Faster. Breathe. Faster. Win.

The crowd were screaming, their voices attacking Leon’s ears as he rounded the corner and passed the line. Two laps to go. The dust from the track hadn’t left the air and it stung his eyes as he maintained his faster pace. The muscles in his legs burned like a roasting fire, and every part of his body begged him to stop and collapse. Fall, they said, fall and everything will be okay. His mind fought back. Win, win, win, it said.

Even through the constant, unyielding noise of the arena, he could hear the others catching up on him from behind, their gasps and pants barely audible; they set a shiver down his spine. He recalled what his mentor, the famous runner Lepides, had said to him one session. It had stuck with him ever since.

“When you can hear them behind you, think of it like a lion sharpening his teeth to sink into your tasty flesh. They are your predator. They are hunting you down. They’ll kill you. So you run. You never look back.”

Only words, they were only words, Leon had originally thought, until Lepides had brought a spear the next day.

“I’m going to give you a few moments, then I’ll be behind you with this spear in front of me. Slack and you’ll have this through your gut.”

Leon had looked on the aged man’s wrinkled face for a idea of humour, but the dark eyebrows had barely moved, and his mouth were thinner than ever before. He had sprinted like he’d never done before that day. It was only later he learnt the spear was blunted.

The smells brought him back to the present, the strong stink of sweat from beside him. The strong runner from Corinth, Alexander, was passing him on the outside, the curly black locks bouncing up and down against his tanned skin. Leon had slowed, the pain in his legs too great. He had led to long, setting the pace, and now the predators would catch their prey. The lion would sink its teeth.

Run. Live. Run. Live. Win.

Leon looked at Alexander’s face. Suddenly his black hair became a rugged mane, his skin a golden yellow fur, his teeth sharp and hungry. Leon felt his heart smash against his chest over and over, the blood pumping through his veins and arteries, his hands tremble, his legs shake.

They’ll kill you. So you run. You never look back.

Lepides’s words ringing in his head, he grimaced and ran like he would for his life, quickening his pace to match that of Alexander’s. They passed the line neck-and-neck, with one lap to go. Leon thought of the time a sword had slashed his thigh in training, the blood dribbling from the wound. He imagined it a thousand times more painful, with a monstrous beast cutting him apart. That beast was Alexander.

You won’t kill me.

He didn’t look back as he outstripped Alexander for pace around the first corner. His long, athletic legs stretched and pulled him ahead. The crowd was explosive, arms swinging everywhere, some of them chanting his name. He ignored them. All he could think about was the lion tearing into his back, claws ripping through his skin, his body being eaten on the dirt.

As he edged onto the last corner, he heard Alexander behind him again, having pulled him back again. As they ran the corner together, Alexander pushed himself on; his muscular body tensed, he matched Leon for speed, and as they came into the straight, they were once more neck-and-neck.

Run. Live. Run. Live. Win.

As they sprinted down toward the finishing line, Leon thought he could hear nothing in the arena; silence had interrupted the noise, turned it off in this one conclusive moment, so all around there were only hushed glances awaiting the results. Perhaps the Gods themselves had taken a break to watch the end of all ends.

Leon realised, as both he and Alexander pounded across the dirt, that he wasn’t scared of the lion anymore. It had been over a year since Lepides had chased him with a blunted spear. In the same undying second, he had a sudden, complete epiphany; the heavens opened up. The sun burst through the clouds above. He wasn’t scared of the lion. He was the lion. He had claws. He had teeth. He was faster than any human. He was the beast. He was the best. He was the winner.

He roared home ahead of Alexander by a head. He didn’t stop as he won, carrying on round the track. The crowd were no longer quiet, they were boisterous, deafening. They had seen a momentous race, one the Gods would have been proud of. They had seen a titanic battle. They had seen a winner.

They had seen the Lion of Athens storm home in the Olympics.

Geez! You had fun with this one, Jacko.

Taking the corner with large strides, he managed to scrape a few more yards over his closest pursuer.
This is just me, but i hate inverted sentences. No idea why, but I just do. But, as you only did it a few times, I won't yell (I read an essay once, every other LINE was inverted. I screamed).

Leon, his tall body covered in sweat, panted with exhaustion
AH! "Leon panted with exhaustion, his tall body covered in sweat." Less weird-sounding.

“I’m going to give you a few moments, then I’ll be behind you with this spear in front of me. Slack and you’ll have this through your gut.”
He's mean! Brillaint, but mean.

I loved the ending! It was... now you have to write a novel for this character. It needs it. Er..ok, maybe it's already been written. Write your own! Now! I command you!

Yay! Very cool. I loved it. With a few minor exceptions...

The crowd were screaming now;

Okay, so I know you could use "were" or "was," and maybe you Brits tend to say "were" when referring to a singular group. It just sounds more natural to say "was" in my opinion.

Too scared to brave a quick glance backward, he told himself any more decelerations would be met with defeat. His mind flickered back to the sprint at the Athens track, his body just inches ahead of Perdikkas at the final line. It had been scarily close, the spectre of defeat hanging over him the whole last straight.

You use "scared" and "scarily" too closely together, I think.

He had led to long, setting the pace, and now the predators would catch their prey.

"To" should be "to." I know you know that.

Other than those minor things, I really enjoyed this sketch. Very cool. It may have been a little cliche, but you pulled it off nicely. I'd like to read more about this character, or at least about this setting. Bravo, Jack.

Thanks Bek and Sam!

Sam -- We do tend to use "were", since what you call a singular group, I call a collective noun. It's debatable but I was tend to use a plural instead of the singular, for personal reading reasons, I suppose. It doesn't sound right for me using "was". I suppose because I am referring to the crowd as individuals.

I point you to this from wikipedia --

In British English, it is generally accepted that collective nouns can take either singular or plural verb forms depending on the context and the metonymic shift that it implies. For example, "the team is in the dressing room" refers to the team as an ensemble, whilst "the team are fighting amongst themselves" refers to the team as individuals.

In American English, there is an epistemologic tendency to believe that the grammatical number mismatch makes such metonymic usage "wrong". Thus, collective nouns are almost always forced to take singular verb forms. In cases where a metonymic shift would be otherwise revealed nearby, the whole sentence may be recast to avoid the metonymy. (For example, "the team are fighting amongst themselves" may become "the team members are fighting among themselves" or "the team is fighting [full stop]".) See Differences between American and British English -Singular and plural for nouns.

So yeah. Differences in the language use, I suppose.

Bek -- Thanks. I'll try and avoid too many inverted sentences in the future.

*shrugs* I knew it wasn't wrong, and it's fine if that's the general use in your area. So it works.

By the way, I tend to like inverted sentences - they break up the paragraph so it's not one long chunk of the same structure, you know? Personal preference, I guess.

I approve of this, it being dedicated to David Gemmel and all. It got tiring after a while though, it being enitrely based on a run. It was, however, excellently written. I applaud.

Loved it Jacko! I felt the excitement and tension throughout the whole narrative...brilliant job!

Wiggy