Bullying Creative Writing
I lean forward, the tips of my fingers on the track, back foot at a ninety degree angle from the ground. My eyes dart towards the tree about a hundred metres away from where I am. Dad blows the whistle; a high-pitched squeal that echoes throughout the isolated park. I push my whole body forward with my back foot, and I'm at seventy percent of my full speed for the first sixty metres. The brown grass beneath me is soft and I’ve reached sixty metres now, and the once hidden beast inside me has been released. But it’s not a very zealous beast. Neither do I feel free or at peace. I concentrate on my legs, both which feel like they’re on fire. It’s a good sign I’m running well. A couple more seconds left, and I’ll be finished. 'Come on,
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Get set!’ The noise around me sinks into an empty void in my mind. The gunshot rings out, and for half a millisecond, I'm unable to move. I push off immediately after that daunting moment, legs and arms swinging wildly. Twenty metres. All of a sudden, time seems to slow down for me. I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through my whole body and shivers down my spine. Sixty metres. Full speed now, and my instincts tell me I’m ahead of everyone. It’s a brilliant feeling to know you’re winning- ‘AH!’ Something sharp under my left foot trips me over, and I land onto the blistering track, elbows below my chin in an attempt to protect my face. My ankle is situated in an extremely uncomfortable and excruciating position. I bite my bottom lip down, hard, to keep myself from screaming. My eyes sting, but I could still spot Dad out from the chaotic crowd. Was he… smiling? Yes, he was. He was mouthing something too. Get up. Get up, Ethan. I hear people calling out for the medics. I watch silently as every boy in the hundred metre event passed me. I knew that the only way to get out of my cage of pressure, routine and unhappiness was to get out myself. Planting my palms onto the track, I started crawling towards the finish line. I felt droplets of water plummet onto my skin and onto to the
Get set!’ The noise around me sinks into an empty void in my mind. The gunshot rings out, and for half a millisecond, I'm unable to move. I push off immediately after that daunting moment, legs and arms swinging wildly. Twenty metres. All of a sudden, time seems to slow down for me. I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through my whole body and shivers down my spine. Sixty metres. Full speed now, and my instincts tell me I’m ahead of everyone. It’s a brilliant feeling to know you’re winning- ‘AH!’ Something sharp under my left foot trips me over, and I land onto the blistering track, elbows below my chin in an attempt to protect my face. My ankle is situated in an extremely uncomfortable and excruciating position. I bite my bottom lip down, hard, to keep myself from screaming. My eyes sting, but I could still spot Dad out from the chaotic crowd. Was he… smiling? Yes, he was. He was mouthing something too. Get up. Get up, Ethan. I hear people calling out for the medics. I watch silently as every boy in the hundred metre event passed me. I knew that the only way to get out of my cage of pressure, routine and unhappiness was to get out myself. Planting my palms onto the track, I started crawling towards the finish line. I felt droplets of water plummet onto my skin and onto to the