The Race

Intensely she stared at the ground. Soon it was going to start.
There she was again. She had run thousands of these races and succeeded
over many other sprinters. But every time it was a new challenge. She
had to win. Her worst fear was of being second-class.

She looked to her right regarding the dark brown skin of Mary Nichols,
a hard rival, but no real danger on a good day. Was this one? She did
not know. What if she did not win? Only became second? What would her
coach say? Would she still get one of his nice glances out of those
blue-grey eyes? Would he smile the way he does when she dashes a
personal record? The smile showing his neat dimples and make his gentle
eyebrows light her day? Certainly not.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the starter shooting and was not
the winner.