Next Time
It’s hard to say what scares Freddie.
There’s the obvious, of course. Spiders, slow deaths, bizarre freak accidents, serial killers.
The deeper ones, the ones that twist your soul, well, maybe they used to know what they were but it’s a little hard to say now. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they should have. Maybe they would have-
Anyway.
It’s hard to say, now, if those fears would be the same. They’ve been a little too numb for a little too long to know if it’s still the old ones or if new ones have moved in. Or so they like to tell themself.
They do, however, have a recurring nightmare.
It goes like this:
They’re running down a dirt road, through a vaguely wooded area. It’s hard to make out the exact surroundings – they aren’t focused on them. They’re just focused on the road, on going as fast as they possibly can. Their lungs are already burning, their legs already aching, but they don’t stop. They can’t stop.
It’s a race, after all.
But there’s no one else around them. Or behind them. No evidence of any other competitors, except for the foot prints ahead of them that they follow. The other runner isn’t visible, but it’s still a race. They still have to run, they still have to try. If they’re fast enough, maybe, maybe...
The finish lines comes into view, a stereotypical red ribbon stretched across the path, the ends stretching off into the distance. And they’re almost there, they’re sure they’re almost there, and they reach for it, and
It crumbles away. Like ash. And falls to nothing. And they find themself standing on the last of the footprints.
They can feel the spectators, then, as they start whispering. It’s really too bad. They did their best. Really stuck it out. Maybe if they’d just gotten started a little faster. Such a shame.
Such a shame.
Such a shame.
And through all that, there’s a cold but gentle hand on their shoulder. “It’s alright, Fri. You’ll get it next time.”
Next time?
“I can’t do this again! I can’t-”
“Next time, Fri. You won’t let me down.”
...
And they wake up in tears.