Write On Edge Prompt: Athleticism

Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently. Let’s try 400 words or less, please.

This was the photo, courtesy of Pinterest, I chose to use for my inspiration:





My piece is more of a character background, I think.  As such, I know it could be polished some more.  But, I hope you enjoy it anyways.

She sat in the stands watching her daughter line up for her race. Pride swelled in her heart. She could hardly believe her daughter was actually out there getting ready to run in the Special Olympics. It didn’t seem like it was that long ago the doctors were telling her it was a miracle her daughter was even alive.

That thought brought a swell of rage washing through her. It had been over five years but she was still so angry at him, at what he did to their beautiful little girl. She looked around to see if her guards were still standing nearby.  They were there, and keeping a watchful eye on her. They didn’t understand. Neither did the men who controlled her life now.

She did what she had to do. Her daughter was running the 400 Meter in the Special Olympics because of what she did for her. No other mother would condemn her for that. They might not want to admit it, but other mothers would have done the same thing if they had access to the same technologies she did.

As her daughter crossed the finish line in first place, she leapt to her feet screaming out her pride and joy. Her daughter threw her arms up in the air in celebration when she realized she won the race. A smile bigger than the state of Texas splashed across her face.   Her strawberry blond hair was tousled by the wind.

She wanted to run down there, sweep her daughter up into her arms and twirl her around. But she couldn’t. She stood there, hands gripping the rail in front of her, knuckles pure white. She had to watch as her daughter ran to another woman for a celebratory hug.  It was so much of a struggle to stay there and just watch she thought it would kill her.  But she couldn’t leave either.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her guards moving in. It was time to go. Realistically, she should be grateful for them allowing her to be here, to watch her daughter. Part of her was grateful. The larger part was angry, though, so angry at being condemned for taking the risk to improve her daughter’s life. She allowed the guards to lead her away.

“One day,” she thought, “I’ll get her back. One day they’ll all pay for this.”