Excerpt: A Look from Olympus

There was smoke. A lot of smoke. The kind that encompassed you so completely, your eyes stung, your nose watered, you groped around like a blind man. The kind of smoke that made you feel utterly alone.

Yet, as if my feet knew the way which my mind did not, I put in all my energy into running, pounding the packed dirt, feet drumming into a rhythm I’d grown to know. The rhythm of sneakers on gravel, on race tracks, on tarp, on concrete. The rhythm that was uniquely mine.

Suddenly, I was free from the smoke. Completely free. I had the moment-long blankness that reminded me of all the other times I’d end a race, with no one next to me, Vit-Pill induced energy fading away, the throbbing of my heart rapidly slowing. Then the rush of victory came.

More beating of shoes, like the other competitors, slowing as they reached the end, almost in awe of the victor, the first place person, then the smoke gave way to two familiar forms, Danzor-Kreul and Seth-Krono. They stood for a moment, catching their breath. Seth, unaccustomed to running long distances, sucked in heaving breaths of clear oxygen.

Then, we turn back to the smoke rising in plumes. The faint silhouettes of buildings, tall spiky roofs of the Quarters, flat tops of the Canteen and Learning Areas, stand out from the murky grayness.

And there’s a momentary rush of emotions, and a feeling unlike any other time I’ve ended a race. That this, this was the most sought-for prize, that this was the largest trophy to win, that this, this opportunity, was the greatest one of all.

The most astounding thing was, it didn’t feel like the end. It felt like a beginning.