Flash Fiction |
The finish line was in sight. I looked to my left and saw that Trey, the cocky track-star, was still right beside me. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I didn't dare let up the pace. I knew that I was a fast sprinter, and if I could just get to those last 200 meters, I would win my first 5k. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an old man with a deep scar hobbling across the street. Suddenly, the old man tripped, fell backward, and smacked his head. I looked around for someone that could help the old man, but nobody seemed to notice. At first I fought the urge to help him, but I finally let out a sigh and turned off the course. As I started running to help, I got one last glimpse of Trey. He was wearing a look of shock and disbelief. I hurried across the street and quickly approached the fallen man. I helped the man up, and slowly guided him across the street. When I was done, I turned to look for Trey. Just then, a loud horn sounded and I gawked in disbelief as a yellow truck collided into Trey. Many people rushed over and I joined them. Trey was lying motionless on the ground. It wasn't until an ambulance came, and whisked Trey away that it dawned on me. Had I not helped that old man, I would have been in that ambulance, too. Twenty years have come and gone, and as I sit here in my office with my countless medals and look across the street at the paralyzed Trey Wilson sitting in a wheelchair, I think I'm beginning to learn something. The true winners aren't necessarily the ones that come in first place. (Romans 15:1) |