Young Writers Society

A small thing. A reminder of a task I have forgotten. A request maybe, please do this, another new thing I don’t have enough time for. A question, why haven’t you finished that yet? It’s almost too late now. Because I couldn’t. Tick tock.

And suddenly it’s a big thing. On your mark, get set, go. You hear It coming well before It hits, but already it is too late. You freeze, and yet you are already running. Running desperately, as fast as you can, but stuck. You feel It now. Closer.

It approaches slowly. It has all the time in the world. It knows that It will catch you. It is calm, and when it arrives, you will be anything but. Slowly, slinking forward. You are petrified. Stock still. You are receding, fading. You do not breath. If you could stop your fluttering heart you would. Stay still, maybe It won’t see you. Don’t move, or It will hear you.

All this time you have still been running and now weakness threatens to slow you down. As your stamina dissipates, your heart pounds. Stop! It will find you! Your breath is heavy, Your shoulders strain up and down with it’s weight. Stop! It will see you moving! But you must run because It is almost here. The lights shut off behind you. Dark comes closer. Then come the lights above you, and now, those in front of you. Click. Too dark. Can’t see. Trip. Now it has you.

All at once. Nothing- full to the brim. Still- racing. Quiet- screaming.

Everything that you are has fled. No thoughts, none at all. But somehow you are hyper-aware. Adrenaline pounds through you. Consumed by a primal fear. The terror is all encompassing and some ancient instinct triggers a physical awareness usually reserved for near death situations. Every fiber is awake and buzzing with a terrible energy. Tunnel vision. Distorted - looming images, once familiar and comfortable now drip with garish colors. Soft, every day sounds shattering your eardrums. The gargantuan waves pummel the shores, eroding your sanity with their terrible force.

You are curled up. Rocking. Back - forward - back - forward - back. Clicking your fingernail against any hard surface. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Drill the rhythm into you, cling to in desperation, the only thing you can control as everything spins out wildly, crashing around you; the scene becomes more terrifying as they fall.

Lost the race. Again.

There will be another soon and already you are tensed at the start line; on your mark, ready to spring forward. Yes, the race will come again. We will never outrun it forever. Never be completely safe. Because this track is a circle and it is inside our heads.