By Mike Everley
The starting pistol was cold in his hand. The runners were lined up and eager to go. His finger was curled around the trigger. He could feel the metallic pressure, knowing he only had to squeeze.
His children, like sprinters, had grown up quickly and left. His wife had been a middle distance runner who had stayed for many years before leaving him. He was getting close to the end of his own marathon.
But now the runners and crowd were getting restless. He could sense their anticipation turning to frustration and he could delay no longer. He pulled the trigger.
So much said, & subtly too. Terrific piece.