People have said that I’ve gone mad,
But they don’t understand,
I have always needed something to outrun.
I’m obsessed with racing the very best.
Obsessed with tasting victory like it’s rum,
Letting it burn my throat,
Letting it scorch my insides.
Winning is a flavor I savor slowly.
I roll it across my tongue,
And swallow it whole.
It is sweeter than candy,
Sweeter than love,
Sweeter than prayer,
I refuse to let go of its taste,
It’s irresistible and delicious.
I refuse to lose,
And I don’t care what I have to lose.
Or who.
Winning is the only god I bow to.
The only altar I kneel at.
The only voice I obey.
No one can beat me.
No one ever has.
No one ever will.
Death comes knocking at my door one evening.
Not gently.
It says my time has expired,
And my body belongs to it.
My wife collapses at my feet,
Crying, begging, praying
My children cling to her like loose fabric in a storm.
Their fear irritates me.
Death just stands in the doorway,
Tall and patient,
Certain it has won.
I feel it creeping into my lungs,
Freezing them from the inside out.
And my legs tremble,
For the first time in my life,
I feel slow.
So I make a proposal,
A race.
I tell Death I will run for my life.
That I had beaten better opponents than it.
Death laughs,
And whispers I’m already halfway gone,
My life alone is not enough of a wager
I smile,
And tell Death if I lose the race,
It can have me, my wife and my children,
Death pauses,
Saying it’s not their their,
I shrug and respond I’ll make it their time.
My wife gasps,
And says my name like she doesn’t recognize me.
I don’t look at her or my children,
Winning requires sacrifice.
Death laughs harder than before,
At her horror.
At my devotion.
And decides to accept my challenge.
Death offers me time to prepare,
But I refuse,
Because I never needed time.
Only a finish line.
The race begins without warning,
No starting pistol or countdown.
Just my heart trying to abandon me.
Death moves like smoke beside me,
Effortless.
Unbothered by me.
The ground beneath us fractures into shadow.
Each step feels stolen from eternity.
My lungs collapse inward.
Blood fills my mouth.
My vision splinters at the edges,
And Death pulls ahead.
Its fingers brushes my shoulder,
Cold.
Certain it had won.
But I lean,
I lean like I’ve never leaned before,
And I cross first.
There is silence.
Death stands at the line,
Defeated.
Studying me.
Bewildered that I have bested it.
Death admits I have won.
I collapse.
Gasping for air.
But I am alive.
My wife rushes to me.
My children sob against my body.
Their hands tremble with relief.
I push them away.
Their touch feels small,
And means nothing to me.
I am staring at Death.
At the thing that had never been beaten.
And I had beaten it.
The rush floods me,
Hotter than blood,
Sharper than oxygen,
I stand slowly,
And ask for one more little race
Death tilts its head.
I explain that one victory proves nothing.
My wife begs me to stop.
Calls it a miracle that I won.
But it wasn’t a miracle.
This was proof.
Proof that I was faster than the inevitable.
Stronger than the grave.
Better than the end.
I demand for Death to race me again.
Death studies me longer this time.
And says that I barely survived,
I grinned,
Then I barely needed to win.
The sky darkened.
Death began to fade.
And say that I cannot outrun it forever.
I laugh.
And respond I don’t need forever.
I only need to beat it again and again.
My wife whispers that I’m scaring her,
And I finally look at her,
And realize something important.
When I crossed that finish line,
I felt more alive than I ever had holding her.
More complete than the day our children were born.
Because they were never my greatest achievement.
Winning was.
Death starts to disappear.
I call out to Death,
It pauses.
Death feels something new with me.
Not fear.
Hunger.
I let Death know that I’ll find it.
The room feels colder.
I’ll chase illness.
I’ll chase war.
I’ll even chase rooftops and speeding cars.
Just so I can put myself in Death’s path,
Until it has no choice.
My wife starts crying.
Death watches her,
Then looks back at me.
For the first time,
It smiles at me.
It whispers that it’s looking forward to it.
Then Death vanishes.
I step outside,
And begin running.
Running away from my family,
And running towards Death,
Because now I understand something.
It isn’t life I’m trying to preserve.
It’s victory.
A high that rushes my veins,
And has me eager for more,
And there may come a day,
When Death finally wins,
But it won’t be because I slowed down.
It will be because I asked for one last race,
Just a little race with Death.
The Warfield Zone 