The Race

She is far into the race by now; she has been for years. The clock, laughing as it ticks relentlessly as her heart pounds in her ears. Since forever these noises have cried out. They are deafening today and the girl cannot seal them out. They tell her to surrender, give up, finish early. This race gets the best of people, several quitting along the route. Yet no one truly reaches the end of the race, for there is no end. It is simply that a handful gets further than others. The vicious beating of the clock snaps her back into focus. She’s not giving up; not today. One day, soon perhaps, she’ll go. The fact she doesn’t know kills her, like a knife in the stomach. Butterflies gather in the girl, blocking her throat, forcing her to sit so she doesn’t choke. grasping at the air, her eyes start going blank. She panics, sending more butterflies