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Written for the: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" Prompt: Write a story in which someone is running. _____________ He shook out his arms and arched his neck. Jumped up and down. One. Two. Three times. For good luck. He sucked in huge gulps of air and let them out in a whoosh, cracking knuckles, flexing muscles. All in preparation for the greatest race of his life. He eyed the stands, listening to the steady chant of his name. “Larry! Larry! Larry!” Oh, sweet music. It was a sea of red, white and blue in this Olympic stadium. He was the star in the 100 meter dash. The most anticipated race. He had breezed through the heats and this final race was just going to be the icing on the cake. “On your marks!” He got into position. Canada and Great Britain on either side of him. They were good runners, but no one could beat him. Not this time around. He hadn’t trained like a maniac for four years to lose to a bunch of wannabes. He thought of the countless hours spent training back home. The way he had stared into his old coach’s eyes and promised to bring back the gold. “This is for you, coach.” The gunshot was heard and they were off! Powerful legs and arms began to piston like automatons. Up. Down. Up. Down. The wind rushed past his ears. No, he was faster than the wind. His heartbeat danced wildly in his chest as he pushed himself to the limit, wanting to be faster than ever before. To beat the clock. To beat his own record. He would make it. He could see the finishing line. Finally! Yes! It was…! “VICTORY!” he bellowed in triumph. “Moooom!” Six-year old Clara yelled, as she watched her father raise his arms from his position on the treadmill. “Dad’s doing that weird thing again!” Word Count: 300 ** Image ID #1087476 Unavailable ** Please check out my forums!
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