By William Glewicz
Two minutes to go until race time. The track stretches out so far that I cannot see its end.
One minute to go. I look at my opponent. He’s strong and sleek, the muscles on his thighs taut with anticipation. His ears twitch. He’s prepared for this moment all his life. He’s ready.
Thirty seconds. I turn to him and say, in as forceful a voice as I can manage: “May the best man win.”
He sees my short limbs, the weight I carry across my back. A scowl crosses his face.
Does the hare really not know how this ends?
Unique take on a well loved fable. Kudos.
Loved it.
Amazing, totally got me.
🙂