by Garry Spotts

Created on: July 16, 2009

He ran and ran as fast and as hard as he could, the wind rushing past his face, streaming around and through his hair like fingers parting each curly strand. His breathing, heavy and erratic, his chest tightened as blades of pain sliced through his right side. Sweat streamed down his face, turning his head slightly to peer over his shoulder at the death that pursued him.

His lean dark frame split the thick summer air that hung about his body like a warm wet overcoat. "I've got to get away, Oh God...my side" he thought to himself, as he stumbled slightly, weakening with each step. His mouth hung loosely open, gaping wide as if to take in more air. To the right, "a fence" he said loudly to himself. "Run boy, Run!" he heard as he turned, not breaking stride heading for the fence, "That's it boy, kick, Kick, Kick harder boy...you can make it" the voice rung out again.

The burning red eyes of the salivating beast flashed as it hastened toward the mark. The pursuing predator's gleaming fangs drenched and dripping with saliva, anticipating the warm briny taste of fresh blood, the stringy texture of human flesh. The savage mind riveted upon the coal black body, perspiration covered, whose blood raced faster and faster with each stride.

"The fence within reach, a few more steps...just a few more" he thought to himself.. Suddenly, the world was empty of all things save he, the fence and the pursuing beast. Now he knew that all things depended upon the fence, success and safety and rest all in this wire fence. Life became the fence, it was everything; on this side was pain, suffering and death on the other side was life. "The fence," he screamed within, leaping for life, clutching the topmost rail of "life", the links of it ringing in unison as the impact of his body flung against the fence spends itself into the peace beyond. His feet clawing at the links, his arms straining to pull his frame to the top of the fence. The beast, bearing his claws wildly, slashing, reaching...a splash of blood sprays the air. His face winces in pain, one last pull and over the fence.

The ground rushes up to meet him, the fence passes beneath him; a trail of blood marking the trajectory of his leap. Dazed, the ground crashes into him; his crumpled form sprawled in the dirt. The Fence rings, it links absorbing and dispersing the force of the lunging beast in ripples along its lengthening span. The snarling, salivating beast, hungrily eyed its missed prey, lunging again and again at the boy, focusing upon its feast, oblivious to fence, the barrier, the symbol of safety, solace and rest. Yet more than symbol, the fence was now a reality that he would never again regard with such contempt. Now he knew that it is often the simplest of realities, the most mundane of things that stand between us, pain and the certainty of death.

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