Last Shot

• Rose Caddle, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

Excitement fills the air and electricity runs through my veins.
I can hear my heart thumping in my chest,
I can feel the nerves churning in my stomach,
I can sense my competitors’ rushing emotions of frenzy and commotion.
We all face one direction, standing nervous, shaky, but determined. I catch the cheers of the audience, roaring loudly, their cries echoing through my brain as I get ready. This is it. This is it. This is it. The words run through my mind, and I become giddy with the burden of pressure that's weighing me down. This is it. This is it. I hear an abrupt silence as the crowd waits for the final sign, and before I can register, the signal is released and I shoot onto the track, running as hard as I can. As I sprint forward, I see the other competitors out of the corner of my eye, struggling behind me. When I realize that I’m coming first, a bolt of thrill shoots through me. If I can keep this up, I will win the race. It’s only when I’m about three quarters there, I feel a sudden, intense pain shoot up my leg, piercing my train of thought. My pace goes from sprinting to running, to stumbling, to limping and then I collapse on the ground. I watch in semi-closed eyes as the others fly by, passing me. Remorse and anguish cover me like a blanket, wrapping me in sudden shock, and then shame. I have failed. Failed and lost. I had the chance and I screwed it up. As I lie there with my eyes closed shut, with my leg in agony, for a split second, I remember the times when my coach trained me, running me until I fell down from exhaustion. But he made me strong and fast. He thought I was up to this, but now I have failed him. Will he forgive me? The race has ended, and as I manage to open my eyes again, through a blurry vision, I see my coach walking towards me with a medical helper. I am lifted up and carried across the track to an outer area, a place for preparation before the race. As the medical assistant asses me, I hear them say; “ It’s broken badly. It will be at least another year before he can race again.” The medical then leaves and I’m left with the coach. He rummages in the back before turning around to face me. The last words I hear come from him as he suddenly raises his hand;
“Just like all the other mutts. “
Then the gun fires, a bang rings out, and a wave of black rears up, crashing over everything.

I wish my master forgave me.