Runner

         Everyone looked at Ryan, a 13-year-old boy, standing on the starting line.  People started murmuring.
         A little girl turned to her mom in surprise: “Mom, what happened to his legs?”
         “Well…he has no legs.” Her mom replied, then whispered to herself: “I can’t believe it…”
         “Then how’s he going to run?”
         “You guys must be new?” a guy next to the little girl and her mom said.
         “We just moved here a couple weeks ago.” The mom nodded.
         “We’ve seen this kid many times... probably too many.” He shook his head with a smirk. 
         The mom and little girl looked at each other.
         Ryan’s mom, Michelle, and his older brother, Stan, sat in the front row.  “I can’t believe you let him do that again.” Stan said.
         “What’s that supposed to mean?” Michelle stared into Stan’s eyes.
         “You know what I mean.”
         “No I don’t.”
         Stan sighed.  “Don’t you think he failed enough times?  Every time he finished last, and I have to sit here and watch it every time.  I don’t even remember how many times he tried.”
         “He’ll win this time; he’s been practicing a lot, and I mean a lot.  He’ll win.  I know it.” Michelle looked at Ryan.
         Stan muttered: “Yea, right, I heard that before.”
         “Can’t you show a bit of support to your own brother?” Michelle cast a displeased look on him.
         “It’s not that I don’t support him, but it’s depressing… it’s like… you know, watching Sisyphus in action.”
         “Watch what?” Michelle frowned.
         “You know, Sisyphus?  The dude punished by gods to roll a big rock uphill forever?  It’s the hopeless efforts and frustration to infinity and beyond, you know?  Pointless.”
         Michelle looked away.  “He’ll win this time.  I know it.”

         Everyone on the starting line was ready.  Some of them couldn’t help but glance at Ryan’s prosthetic limbs.  The world was silent. 
         The gun fired.  Every runner burst off.  The audience shouted and yelled.
         “Run!  Ryan!  Run!  See!  You see Ryan?  He’s leading!  He’s leading!” Michelle screamed in a frenzy of joy, almost couldn’t catch her breath.  “You see, Stan?  Ryan is ahead!”
         Stan watched in disbelief: “No way…”
         Everyone in the audience looked at Ryan in awe: he was exhibiting tremendous energy and power.  The runner behind him was very close, but Ryan showed no sign of slowing down.
         The first turn.  It was dangerous: keeping balance on prosthetic limbs was even more difficult at this point.  But he made it.  Michelle’s holler could be heard miles away.
         Then, the runner behind Ryan started to catch up. 
         Ryan sensed the threat, and pushed himself even harder.  However, that runner was now with him shoulder by shoulder. 
         The second turn.  Ryan tried to concentrate on balancing himself.  That runner started to get ahead.  Ryan lost concentration; he looked at the runner instead of ahead.
         A mistake.
         Suddenly, Ryan tripped and fell.  He rolled along the track and bruised himself all over.  The audience exhaled a sigh of astonishment.  Michelle’s eyes wide open; she gasped and covered her mouth.
         Ryan struggled to stand up and ran to the finish line.  He was the last.

         “How much longer is he going to sit over there?” Stan said.  He and Michelle were still in their seats looking at Ryan, who was crouching in the corner of the track.  The whole stadium was empty and quiet.
         Ryan whimpered, touched the gauze pads on his elbows and knees.  They looked ridiculously big.  The cuts and bruises hurt a lot, but his whimpers weren’t from the pain.
         “Mom said you cried.” Suddenly Stan was behind him.
         Ryan didn’t respond.
         “Isn’t it time to go home now?  I’m not complaining or anything, but you’ve tried, you know?  You said you wanted to try, and now you know.  You’ve tried so many times, has it occurred to you that it’s time to stop, right?”
         Ryan turned back and looked at Stan for a while.
         “C’mon, let’s go and forget about this.”
         Ryan struggled to stand up.  He slowly walked past Stan silently. 

         The early morning three days later.  Ryan was in the stadium.  It was empty except a couple of people slowly jogging.
         He walked up to the starting line.  His face distorted for a split second because of the bruises and wounds.  He stared at the rising sun on the horizon.
         He burst off from the line, as if running toward the sun to catch it.