A Mile To Forget
As usual, I get up at 6:30am to prep for my run — a cup of coffee, take a shit, some water, all before 7am. Each distance I need to run has its own route. At a specific location, I know when each mile has to be achieved; everything is planned out.
3 miles is the intended distance so I set out with Mac Miller’s Cinderella blasting through my headphones.
“I’ve been waiting all night for this moment/I’ve been waiting all year for this moment. I’ve been picturing you taking off your clothes for me/I’ve been literally curving all these hoes for you.”
Passionate about both, I sing my heart out as the first mile is kicked off with a short burst sprint, which is run off the major roads so I barely come in contact with any car, just bystanders who love to stare. Six minutes into the first mile, sweat begins to drip, I’m getting heated; the runners’ high is so eagerly anticipated. My energy levels are gauged at the announcement of the first mile by the Nike run app. With that, I know how much further I can push and how often I can sprint.
During my second mile, which is run on the major road, I notice an accident on the other side of the street. Bystanders rush over to assess the situation but none was looking calm, more confused than worried. The aggrieved who clearly took all the brunt of the accident exits his car with fists full of rage. The drama is brewing but unfortunately, I run out of sight and keep going. I wasn’t curious enough to break my run. It stops for nothing, undisturbed, focused till the goal is achieved, well except for rich sugar mommies.
While trying to change the song, my instincts kick in and there is a car speeding towards me. I clear the way and the car runs into a buka shop on the side of the road. They’re too late to notice and I’m too terrified to alert them. On impact, my legs change direction hoping to redeem myself of such a huge mistake. Imagine my surprise when on arrival there’s no blood neither a single person. Perturbed with shock but agreeing maybe my thoughts had mixed up memories of yesterday, I hurry to the driver's aid. The door is thrown wide open with the help of other good Samaritans who were in the area. Our faces wear the same expression on seeing nobody behind the wheel. We are horrified; we can’t make sense of it. There is that fresh smell of perfume so I run back to the road for answers. Just maybe the driver had jumped out. Nothing! Nothing! I’m troubled by the second. My attention is drawn back to the car upon the ringing of a phone. There is a huge pause; everyone is staring at each other and some begin to leave. The caller ID says “my darling” I ignore it, searching the car for answers. A briefcase is seen behind the driver’s seat with a cooler of warm food. I run back to the road hoping I missed something, still nothing. Gripped by my fears, wanting no further involvement, I run off faster than I can blink; faster each second, getting myself away from the scene. Ignoring reality and not seeking the truth. During that short moment, I literally see people vanish before my very eye.
I’m panicking, more accidents are happening; not everyone is as lucky as those in the buka- there are deaths, blood, cries. Left, right and center, people are vanishing. Everyone is in a frenzy.
As fast as my legs could take me, I run home crying out for my mother. I get in but her car isn’t in the compound. It’s only 7:28am, and she won’t have gone anywhere. Calling her phone, I run into the house. My brother is seen fast asleep on the living couch, my dad not too far from him watching tv. My mother walks into the living room with the phone in her hand. I’m calmer and relaxed. Just as I’m about to hug her, I begin to vanish.
