The Finish Line

My legs are dragging themselves through the humid air. A warm breeze wraps around my body and the pressure of it makes me nauseous. Everything around me seems to be steaming, blurring the edges of the track and the trees. The obstacles loom ahead, like little giants standing in a straight line before me. As I slowly approach them, I attempt to jump over them like hurdles in a race. But then, I am face to face with the vicious monster and with a thump of its club I am beaten to the ground. Undeterred, I push myself up again and look wearily around me, searching for the finish line. Where is the finish line? There is no finish line.

The track bursts into flames and the giants encircle me as they multiply as far as the horizon where the sun is emanating sharp piercing rays. I take up my sword and I slash and hack at what I can with one eye open. This is an interminable war that will only end with death. Mine or Goliath's. This is not a race for the fittest. It has never been. Only then do I realize there is no finish line. This is war.