NOT All HEROES
Breathless, I
took a knee. No one should have to run like this, particularly in the
morning, and hungover. I didn't hurt, I burned. My lungs, my throat,
my feet, my calves all awash in flames. I could almost smell the
smoke. …
My hamstrings
were ready to snap and my heart was trying to burst through my chest.
The crowd – the hoard – was already turning the next corner; a
tall, skinny guy in an expensive work suit and missing half his face
was in the lead, running hard.
I might have
given up except for a young man, not much past his teens came back to
help me up. How nice. His parents must have raised him well.
“C'mon mister,
get up, they're right behind us.” He had a whine in his voice
making him sound even younger that he looked.
He got closer and
reached down to help me up. I reached out and hit him solidly in the
face, he stumbled backwards and went down, hard. I might not have had
the lungs, but the rest of the upper body was still quite able. I got
up, stomped on his leg and for good measure kicked him in his face,
and to stop his screaming …
Well, you know
the old saying, “... I only have to run faster than you ...”
