1896 Olympic marathon. Public domain photo by Burton Holmes.
Mama told me to come away, to come back inside, but I couldn’t.
The first ones ran.
I stared, from my perch on the broken fence, as they hurried past, their concentration on the dusty road and their footfalls, not on me, a grubby child by the wayside. They ran so fast even my blistered legs curved below my torn skirts failed to move them. I winced as I changed position.
There were more, still running, always running, kicking up dirt and ash in clouds behind them as they hastened on. Then they slowed and I stared. Sunken cheeks, dull eyes, scorched rags, and blistered skin…like mine.
He was one of the last, walking, dragging, mumbling and stinking of anguished sweat. I backed away as he reached my fence, and I stared with mistrust in my eyes and escape in my legs.
“War is over,” he slurred. “War is over, my child…”
Tears streamed as my eyes met his. “Papa?”
(160 Words)
Flash! Friday…150 give or take 10 words on the prompt photo above including the word War…some of these are brilliant!
The Last Krystallos 