I wrote this on Friday for a Flash Fiction Challenge. I didn’t win, but thought you all might be interested in reading it.
I just had to use “He Runs Alone” in the piece and keep it under 250 words.
(With all apologies to Cake.)
The blacktop goes on both in front and behind, the track laid before is always unkind. Churning and yearning he strives for the bend, not knowing the past or even the end. He’s driving and striving as fast as he can, only he hasn’t fallen through the ocean of sand.
Yet, he runs and guns and aims for the end, hoping in vain for a third or fourth wind. The past is behind him and the future before, if he doesn’t finish he can’t settle that score. They come at a distance but not far behind. He’s pumping and jumping with nary a whine.
History in balanced hangs in his head, his friends that started with him have ended up dead. The light of the sun beats down on his back, he can’t stop or think or show any lack. The distance is great and he runs alone, but he runs for humanity and runs for his home.
Bullets whiz by him as he sees the gates, he running for life and running for mates. He hears the creatures that follow him close, snarls and grunts coming from the host. His foot his the pavement of the town up ahead and suddenly thoughts fills him with dread. There are no monsters and the town isn’t here, his head plays tricks with all that is dear. He continues on this lonely road, forever he runs and he runs alone.