Late

The gun snapped.

Then immediately again.

Windows and brickwork played tennis with the sound. The sound of an iron heartbeat. A heartbeat more composed than mine.

People were running past me as I collapse to the floor.

I can't cry.

I want to, I just can't.

The pain in my chest paralyses me, as the shouting from across the track loudens.

All those years I trained to get myself out of the gutter I lived in. I worked on speed. I trained to avoid situations like these. Today, I was fitter than I had ever been before.

What a waste.

The others came running back to me. No. Past me.

The race resets without me.

I was too early. Now it's too late.