RACE

RACE

A heavy block lies in his chest. Sighing, he thinks of the race he has been running since he wised up, the one he never stopped to rest during its course. Then he remembers the echoing words of the ragged man, the one whom everyone mock and spit at. The words reverberates in his head, "the race of life is not always in favour of the fastest ". Conflicting thoughts flash through his mind like the clapping of colourful thunder, but the one with the strongest residual effect is the line that stuck to his medulla after reading one of Shakespeare's works, "Tis silliness to live,when to live is torment and then we have a prescription to die,when death is our physician "

He shakes his head when a sudden realization dawned on him. He realizes that he has not been concentrating on the race, he has been looking sideways expecting to see his comrades closing up on him. He remembers vividly the day he was on the second lap of the field, almost reaching the third lap, that he swiveled around thinking another racer was about to catch up with him but he didn't find anyone. It is now he realizes that he has been running the race alone, no one is involved in the race because it belongs to him alone. 

    Like Icarus, his cold dead lying beneath  the Now Icarian sea, after his wings made of feather and wax melted because he flew too close to the sun, so does he lie down now with the torturous heavy block in his chest pressing him down. He lies there,breathing shallowly, wondering why he never took a rest, why he pressed himself too hard, why he never found the time to remember the ultimate prescription given by the physician, why he never realized that matching his own pace steadily will give him more energy to move on. 

     He is crying inwardly, punishing himself for the breaking of his Icarus' wings but no one  passing by sees it. They pass by nodding gently as him in acknowledgement. He does not let his anguish show on his face, that his silliness has overrode him for he has tormented himself too much by not stopping at least once in a while, to breathe in and out, to enjoy the lush scenery, to extend a grateful heart to the Creator for giving him the ability to even raise a leg to run but No!, it is now that his last energy is draining away that he comes to the realization  that steadiness and going at your own pace without considering or trying to compete with other racers can make one finish the race with success. 

      These are the thoughts of the man named Nameless before his eyes finally closed to the bright light of the day

Olurotimi Josephine I
The Little Lady
LL. B1