The wan rays of the sun glittered in the tiny puddles that scattered the trail. The pavement was cold and wet from the night’s storm. There were faint traces of snow. Some of it lingered like a crown on a few nearby bushes, while the rest was nested meagerly high above all on the countless barren branches. The wind whistled with tremendous verve, like a warning to retreat.
Darren was trumping forward. He had a winter coat, and a scarf tightly wrapped around. He forgot his gloves, so he tacked his hands deep into his pockets. He saw a few runners sprinting by. They didn’t seem to be cold, but they weren’t burdened with a thousand thick layers of cloth either. He sighed, and walked ahead.
The wind hit him like a whack in the face. It wasn’t particularly strong, but it was frigid. The gust penetrated his skin. He felt the skin on his face grow cold, dry and chaffed. He increased his pace.
As if trying to outrun the wind, he dashed forward. A blast of air curved around his temple and by his ear, whispering something unfathomable. He pulled up his scarf over his face, but it didn’t do much. The cloth seemed to be instantly blown away.
He wasn’t running, but his march was in a consistent, steady determined pace. He managed to catch up to a pair of hikers. They didn’t pay much attention to him, as they gossiping about their daily lives.
“Can you believe it?” A muscular gent said.
“Want to know what I’m thinking?” The other, a much more flimsy-looking guy, asked with a smug grimace. The gent nodded. “Why are you the only one with those bizarre, atrocious, maybe whimsical stories? I mean, I know so many different people, I’ve got countless friends, but no one ever tortures me like you do.” The flimsy guy waved his hands, rolled his eyes, and appeared to be emotionally shaken. His outburst didn’t faze the gent as he smirked. They appeared to be good friends.
Darren evaded and continued. A brown squirrel dashed across his path, carrying a nut. It ignored him completely, vanishing in the bushed with a faint swish.
The trail veered east, and then slightly north. The way soon split into two. The paved way continued to the left, while a well-trotted dirt path led down a slope to the right. He chose the dirt path. He increased his pace, he was running. He continued alone down this trail for quite some time. He forgot about the wind, and the cold seemed to be the least of his worries. Worries? What worries? He didn’t have any.
He sprinted onward. He felt the heat produced by his body bottle up within his chest. He knew he couldn’t continue for much longer. His heart was beating quickly and rhythmically. I should really buy some apparel for jogging, he thought.
He soon escaped the dirt path to a road. An SUV blasted him with the horn. He looked at the driver who waved at him with a pleasant expression. He greeted him. Finding the correct driveway, he left the road, crossed the lawn, and made his way up the steps. At the door he looked behind.
His routine was complete.
THE END
Thanks for reading,
Patrick Rain