Young Writers Society

Author's note: I am sorry this took so long, and that it is so long! If anything historywise is out of place, please let me know. Actually, it was difficult to find history on Pheidippides run to Athens. So I took what was out there and added to it. Thanks for reading!

The way he talks to me makes it seem like this is going to be my life’s work, the greatest thing I will ever do. I hesitate to believe him at first, but slowly I see what he means.

If the Persian ships come close to Athens and see it undefended, they will attack. Without us there, they will let the Persians in unchallenged and the city will be lost! Someone has to tell them of our victory. That we drove them away. That we are the victors! Then their courage will be rekindled and they will won’t surrender the city if the Persians’ arrive before we do.

What I want to do is to clean off the dry blood and dirt off my body, washing away the battle and become a runner once more, but there is no time for that. The only things that I can do are to put down my sword and take off my armor.

Without a second thought, I turn away from my fellow Athenians who roar a victory cry at the Persian ships now so far in the distance, and look towards the road home.

I don’t stretch or walk to warm up my muscles. The battle has done that for me. My legs are limber and my muscles are tired but still have some strength and are prepared for the long run ahead.

I go to take my first running step and almost collapse as my foot meets the ground. The pain races through my entire body, starting at the wound and going out until it seems as though I am on fire.

My hand is even shaking as I press it against the long, deep gash. I don’t know why it makes it feel better, but somehow it does. I want to keep it there, holding back the tide of pain at least a little bit.

I want to stay where I am at and just lay on the beach, letting my wound be cleaned out by a doctor, and journey back to Athens on a stretcher!

But that is for the rest of the wounded. I am an exception and I must continue by myself.

I slowly pull my hand back to my side and take another weak step, stifling a cry. Then another, and another. Soon I am at a slow jog, clumsily running along despite the hurt. Once I build up to a run and keep at it for a few moments, the pain slowly subsides as my wound becomes used to it.

One again, I feel the slow trickle of blood seeping out of my body. I look down and find out that the wound has re-opened. Blood is slowly running down my leg and around my sandals, leaving bloody footprints in the dirt behind me.

For some reason, I don’t care. The sight of my blood doesn’t affect me like it did before. I don’t know if It is the after effect of the battle or if I am losing my mind, but I don’t care about that either. The only thing that matters to me now is getting to Athens, and to get there alive and in time to tell them of our victory.

Usually my running is smooth and my arms still, but today my running form is terrible. At first, I shrug it off, trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter! My running form doesn’t make that much of a difference!

Then I begin to realize what I had just said. Doesn’t matter? It so does matter!

I force myself to change, bringing my arms in closer, and keeping them still to conserve energy. My tendency is to overextend my stride, thinking that it will help me get there faster, but that is wrong. It will only induce injury because I am not in control of my legs way out there.

After I fix my running form, I start to feel smoother. The one leg still doesn’t run properly and there is a jolt of pain each time it meets the ground, but that is a minor thing.

Only one thing matters now. Get to Athens before the Persians do.

I can take two possible routes. Either take the pass of Dionysus and climbs Mount Penteli, or I can go around it. The choice might seem simple, but it is anything but that.

The first choice is four miles shorter, but there is a steep climb of more than three miles before it levels out. The other is flat the entire way, with only the occasional roll in the countryside.

I choose the second choice, because I know I can run twenty-four miles, but running twenty miles up the mountain will take too much energy out of me. Energy that I desperately need.

So I turn south, going around Mount Penteli instead of over.

Even though I choose the easier path to Athens, it is not without its up and downs. Literally, ups and downs.

There are many stalwart farmers who insist on tilling the land, but Greece isn’t meant for farming. The terrain is rough and rocky, and so I must keep a careful watch for my footing. If I lose my footing here, it could all be over. I could die on the sharp rocks even before I reach the city.

My eyes find a road in the rocks and I make my way through the brush and stony hillside to it. If I can run the road the entire way to Athens, it will make up a lot of time I so desperately need.

After running for a minute longer, my feet find the road. It is a primitive path and was probably built by farmers to transport their crops, but it doesn’t matter how lowly the purpose of the road was. It is now a vital means of getting to Athens, and I am grateful for it.

After a moment longer, I increase my speed. After years of running, it has become an automatic reaction for me to adjust my speed while running. Somehow, my mind knows that since I only have about ten miles left, I can speed up my pace without worrying about not finishing.

At this new speed, I will arrive in Athens in no time.

While I run the remaining distance, my mind dwells on other things. I wander about, thinking about anything that will help keep the constant pain in my mental background.

And now it isn’t just the pain from the wound in my leg that bothers me. All day I have gone without water, fighting in a long battle and now running this long distance. I knew what the consequences would be, but also knew better than to dwell on them.

I now have a splitting headache from having no water. My lips are parched and my body is growing weak. Soon I won’t be able to focus with the pain growing more and more debilitating.

After searching anxiously for a long while for a spring or a well, anything where I can get water at, I finally see a small village in the distance. I admit that a few salty tears find their way down my cheeks when I see that beautiful sight!

I know I will find water there, and once they learn of my mission, they will not pester me with questions nor gather round me.

A woman hurries out of a hut when I arrive, running into their village. She and many others recognize me as a runner of Athens, so she doesn’t try to stop me. But when I stop, she walks over to me, her eyes wide.

I can feel her eyes looking over me. The wound on the side of my leg and the crusty blood that runs down. The gash on my arm where the Persian cut me with his sword. Even small scratches aren’t missed by her intense gaze.

She finally looks up at my face. “Who are you and why are you here?” She asks. “What is going on?”

Standing still longer than a few seconds is a bad idea, so I continue moving, walking in circles around her. “I am a messenger from Miltiades. We have beaten the Persians. Now can you give me water before I continue on my way? Athens must be told now!” I say anxiously.

She hears the worry and pain in my voice and does as I ask her, without any more questions. Handing me a gourd full of water, she steps back, motioning for me to take the entire thing.

“Thank you,” I say, and then continue my journey before my legs cramp, making it impossible to continue.

Instead of gulping the water, which is what I want to do, I take a few small sips and then put the gourd over my shoulder, using the strap to secure it. If I drink the entire thing, I will become sick very quickly, so I only drink small amounts every few minutes.

I find myself thanking Athena for the water, as I know it was she who led me to the village with the water. Now I can only pray that she will assist me to reach Athens in time as well. I don’t doubt she will give me the help I need, because she has come through with everything else.

Finally, after I run for some time, I catch sight of Athens.

I can say that I have never seen a more beautiful sight in my life. The city walls surround and protecting the city from invaders. Behind those walls, I see the rock buildings. Temples and theaters adorn the hillside the city stands on.

People will be at the temples, praying to their favorite gods. They will be at the theaters, watching their favorite plays, and enjoying the sunny afternoon. But they all know what is coming. They know that a Persian force could be coming closer to their shores by the minute, with their city defenseless.

I am the one that must bear the glad tidings to them. I must make it to the city. I must! I only hope I find the strength, because even with the city so close to me, I am losing consciousness.

But I know that the city is only a mile away and just seeing it brings my final reserves of strength to me, but I still don’t know if I can finish this.

Everything seems to blur in front of me, the world losing its focus. The only thing that remains in focus is the city, coming closer by the moment. Each time I make a step, I come that much closer to my destination.

Then a nagging irritation begins to bother my left leg. First, it is only a small pain that just lingers there, but it is growing quickly. I know what it is and I had been expecting it. I had hoped that I wouldn’t have had to suffer from it today, but the pain comes in no matter what my preference.

A debilitating pain starts at a particular muscle and works its way up, cramping the leg. I have experienced that before, but not for a while.

Today is an exception to that rule; because I fought instead of ate. I missed both breakfast and lunch, so my body is starving for energy. I am now empty of all energy, and so my body takes it straight from my muscles.

The pain finally arches through my legs, causing me to stop suddenly, almost falling on the road. Somehow, I manage to keep walking, even though the throbbing brings tears to my eyes.

Just keep walking, I tell myself. The city gate is so close now, only one hundred yards away! I am going to make it. I have to make it.

I lift my foot for another painful step, and the tip of my sandal catches on the edge of a rock. Without warning, I lose my balance and my feet fly from underneath me. I land face down in the rocks, my hands, knees and face being torn to shreds by the sharp edges.

Holding in a scream from the combined pain of so many wounds, I pull my hands beneath me and push myself up until I stand. My face is covered in the dirt and rock from the road, being pushed into the open cuts on my face, but I don’t wipe them off. I don’t even wipe my bloody hands onto my tunic.

Instead, I look up at the gates, now only ninety yards away. The first step is agonizing, my legs refusing to move, refusing to cooperate. The second is a little better, and then I slowly work my way up into a full sprint.

As I run, tears are blown off my face from the wind. My entire body is writhing in agony, even my arms and feet. I have lost so much blood today, before and during the run that I don’t know if I will make it once I finally reach the gates of Athens.

My hand stretches out, yearning to feel the gate. When my hand touches it, I fall against it, sighing in relief. Without really realizing it, my hand beats on the gate. Let me in!

I faintly hear a shout from inside the city, behind the gate, and then the gate slowly opens.

The city is stunning, like always. Tall stone buildings line the long cobblestone streets and the elaborate portcullises decorate the entry to homes and shops. The statues of the gods scattered around the square, being placed where appropriate, and of course, I see Athena in the middle of everything, her statue being the most beautiful of all of them.

Her hand holds her weapons so gracefully and her helmet sits on her head like she had been born with it on. Her long robes touch the ground, going underneath her bare feet and her piercing eyes shot out over the sea, as if she was waiting for the Persian ships to arrive on the horizon so she could destroy them herself.

My eyes linger on the statue for a moment longer, unwilling to pass. But the nagging thought of failure forces me to continue. That, and the fact that I am starting to lose consciousness.

I somehow find the strength to run after a group of young boys who say they are bringing me to a city official. I try to tell them my news, but they keep saying that no, I must tell someone in command. Who is left that is in command here? Are not all of them marching here from the battlefield? It must not be so.

Even as I think that, I see a bearded man sitting on a stone seat, surrounded by men and women of all ages. They seem to be asking him questions, but I know that they are ones he cannot answer, for he doesn’t know the news from the battlefield. Only I do.

He looks up as I approach. In fact they all do. Who wouldn’t?

I can just see a mental picture of myself: A tall, thin man with a haggard and tired face. Blood covers both his arm and leg, running down them in crusty sheets. His hands and knees are covered in rocks and blood from his falls, and he is filthy from the grime of battle.

No wonder they look at me in shock as I run up to them!

When I reach them, the groups scatters as if they are afraid that my dirtiness will creep onto them, but the bearded man gets up and hurries to me.

I stand for a moment, waiting for my breathing to become normal once more. I am breathing so heavily now, I cannot speak. I can’t even shakily whisper the news to him.

My vision begins to dim, the world becoming darker than it was before, as if the gods are controlling the light from the sun. Then the world begins to spin, as if I am turning about in circles uncontrollably. But still I can’t find words to speak. They just won’t come out.

Finally, I find myself able to form the words. “Victory!” I say in a raspy voice. “We have conquered.” And then my eyes roll forward in my head and I slump to the ground in a heap.

I don’t even feel the pain as my head slams into the stones on the street. Nor do I hear the concerned cries of the townspeople. All I see is the sky, and all I hear is music. Sweet music.

But both become dimmer by the moment. The sky grows dark before my eyes, and soon I can look at the sun without being afraid of hurting my eyes. At first, I wonder what is wrong with the world, but the answer is clear. The problem is with me, not the world.

I am dying.

I can just envision the three Fates sitting before me, all of them shaking their heads sadly and pulling out my string of life. Their scissors move ever so slowly towards the string, the blade beginning to cut down, severing my life.

If I had the strength, I might have put my hand up to implore them, to give me more life. To let me live longer.

But I have lived my life, and they say I must move on to the next.

The world fades away to total darkness, leaving only the ball of never-ending string and the scissors. I watch as the scissors move down, neatly cutting the string in two, the two pieces falling away into the darkness.

And then I smile, because it was a good life, after all. Aeschylus said that, “There is no greater death than one in battle.” I can only hope that my death will merit close to that.

I breathe out for the last time, exhaling the fresh salty air from the sea. Then my eyes close and I surrender my soul to Hades.

The future of Athens is in their hands now.