The starting gun cracked through the cool morning air, and I propelled myself forward, every muscle charged and ready for this moment. The Olympic marathon—my lifelong dream. The crowd’s cheers blended into a distant roar, their faces a blur as I locked my focus on the road beneath my feet.
I felt unstoppable—my stride smooth, my breathing measured. Months of brutal training, countless miles, all the sacrifices—I sensed it paying off as I drew ahead of the others. The finish line ribbon felt close enough to touch, a goal within reach.
The miles slipped by: ten, fifteen, twenty. My rivals fell behind, their footsteps faint memories. I was alone now, the city unfolding before me in a surreal haze. The streets looked familiar yet off, as if the buildings had shifted and the colors dulled.
Still, I kept running. My legs were on fire, but I refused to yield. I couldn’t.
The crowd started to thin, their shouts dying into silence. The course stretched ahead, winding through unfamiliar territory. The streets morphed into forest trails, then empty highways, then cracked, barren earth. The sun, once high overhead, now lingered unnaturally on the horizon, bathing everything in an odd, golden glow.
I glanced at my watch. Forty miles. Then fifty. This made no sense—marathons are only twenty-six. My heart thundered, not just from the effort but from an unsettling sense of doom. Where was the finish line? Where were the other runners?
The road narrowed into a lone dirt path, twisting through an endless stretch of shadowy trees. My breath turned ragged, my body screaming for relief. But something forced me onward, an unseen power propelling me toward a finish that never arrived.
Without warning, the path vanished into darkness. I tripped, the ground disappearing under me, and plunged into a black void.
I woke up soaked in sweat, sheets twisted around me. Dawn’s pale light slipped through the blinds, lighting up the small room. My body throbbed as though I really had run for hours. A dream? It had to be. But why did it feel so real?
I sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing my running shoes by the door. Today was the day. The Olympic marathon. My heart hammered at the thought.
The morning passed in a haze. A quick breakfast, stretching, then the bus ride to the starting line. My fellow athletes chatted, a mix of excitement and nerves on their faces. I stayed quiet, my thoughts locked on the race.
The gun fired, and off we went. My body felt like a perfectly tuned machine, each stride strong and precise. I surged ahead early, the crowd’s cheers fueling me. An uncanny sense of deja vu swept over me, as if I’d run this very course before. I brushed it off. Just nerves, I told myself.
The miles ticked by: ten, fifteen, twenty. The scenery began to warp, mirroring the same strange, distorted landscapes I’d seen in my dream. My pulse raced, anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.
“No,” I whispered. “Not again.”
The road stretched on, infinite, the finish line a taunting mirage. My watch flashed: fifty miles. Sixty. My legs buckled, but somehow I stayed upright. Something held me, forcing me forward against my will.
The light dimmed, shadows creeping in on every side. My vision narrowed, and the world sank into darkness.
I startled awake, gulping for air. My heart pounded as I stared up at the ceiling, my body shaking with fatigue. The dream clung like fog, flashes of that endless race haunting me.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. The alarm blared on the nightstand, signaling a new day. I looked at my running shoes by the door.
Today was the day. The Olympic marathon. My heart hammered at the thought. I had dedicated my entire life to this.
And then, the gun went off.
Thanks for reading,
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I appreciate any comments and idea to improve the stories...
Puedes apoyar a la comunidad delegando HP en esta cuenta para poder crecer y mejorar, todo suma.
También, puedes unirte a nuestro trail para que juntos apoyemos las publicaciones que se realizan en esta comunidad.
Esta publicación ha sido votada por la comunidad @zonadeescalofrio, donde tu alma nos importa y mucho. Muchas gracias por ser parte del averno de #Hive.
Good horror story, you kept me in suspense until the end, How desperate it must be to live in an eternal repetitive dream with the same scenes, knowing that you won't be able to get out of there. Welcome to @zonadeescalofrio (Spooky Zone) 🤗👻.
Thanks for reading my story🤗🤗
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