Fiction Friday: Treadmill
Bare feet pound against dry, cracked earth.
Each step leading to nowhere.
The horizon never changing.
Heartbeats pound against tight, stitched ribs.
Each pulse leading to the last.
The horizon too far to care.
Despair pounds against ever-waning hope.
Each second leading to the end.
The horizon stares on, aloof and distant.
Faith pounds against the impatient horizon.
Each thump a call to believe.
The horizon swells. The horizon cheers.
