Jumping out of bed, Joey raced into the walk-in closet to get dressed. He quickly threw on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of crew socks. Then, he hurriedly walked to the front door and put on his running shoes.
Locking the door behind him, Joey took off. He ran down the block, around the building on the corner and across the bridge. He ran as quickly as his legs would let him. A few times he began to lose his breath, but he carried on anyway.
He ran through the woods, tripping over rocks and fallen tree limbs, but he was determined that nothing would slow him down. He continued on, jumping over obstacles and running around barriers. It was a race like no other he had ever been in. He had to win. There was no other choice.
However, much to his dismay, no matter how fast he ran, it wasn’t fast enough. Time was still catching up with him.
This post was a part of The Daily Post prompt: Flash Fiction
Me - Who am I? 
I feel the effects of that running!
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Same here. We can’t hide from it.
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NosireeeWeWhoAmIbob.
😉
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Your comments are always so great!
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😉
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This is a good one to read to children.
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Funny, I was thinking the same thing when I re-read it this morning. I’ve decided that writing when I’m half asleep doesn’t produce the best work. It produces ‘different’ work though and that can be good.
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I enjoyed your flash fiction. Stinkin’ time, what a pest.
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Thank you, April. It sure is, isn’t it? We can’t run from it, but it sure would be nice if we could.
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Yeah, it’ll do that
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It certainly will. It always catches up.
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