Bullying Creative Writing

I lean forward, the tips of my fingers on the track, back foot at a ninety degree angle from the ground. My eyes dart towards the tree about a hundred metres away from where I am. Dad blows the whistle; a high-pitched squeal that echoes throughout the isolated park. I push my whole body forward with my back foot, and I'm at seventy percent of my full speed for the first sixty metres. The brown grass beneath me is soft and I’ve reached sixty metres now, and the once hidden beast inside me has been released. But it’s not a very zealous beast. Neither do I feel free or at peace. I concentrate on my legs, both which feel like they’re on fire. It’s a good sign I’m running well. A couple more seconds left, and I’ll be finished. 'Come on,
Ethan, you’ve got to beat your last time!' Dad barks furiously, cupping his hands around his mouth. I strike the tree in one swift, weary motion. My whole body is bounded with sweat. ‘You're a bloody second slower than yesterday. What the hell was that? What’s wrong with you?' he bombards me with a thousand more questions before muttering, ‘you’re an absolute failure.' I squeeze my eyes shut, and wish it would all disappear. We’re watching the telly in peace until Dad starts lecturing me. 'Recently, your hands have been going past your eyes. How many times must I repeat myself? And there's a bloody carnival this Friday!' I eat my frozen dinner, listening quietly, until fifteen minutes later when Dad gets a call from work. He swears under his breath, and takes the call.
***
It’s a sweltering hot afternoon, and I’m riding the air-conditioned bus with my mates to the national schools’ athletics carnival. Dad will be there, watching.
‘Oh by the way Ethan, Adam told me that it was forecasted to rain today. You’re just running in one event right?’ Nick asks on the way to Wickham Stadium. I realize my hands are sticky and wet.
‘Yup, just the hundred metre today,’ I say with an unsteady voice. I force a smile on my face. Nick raises his brows in amusement and chuckles.
‘Don’t be so nervous. You’re a pro, Ethan.’ It feels like there are thousands of people here. Everywhere I look, I’m enclosed by crowds of parents and boys. I want to shout. Cry. Scream. Kick something. And now, bending down onto track number four I get into position. I place my two feet onto the starting blocks, my left foot slightly further from my right. My fingers are trembling as I rest them against the polyurethane surface. I clench and unclench my fists, trying to relax myself. It’s not working; my heart is beating at an abnormally rapid speed. I turn to my left, where a taller, blond boy stands, stretching. He looks bored but confident. To my right is a redhead who I recognise- his narrowed eyes flicker towards me, cold and aggressive. Am I the only one who’s nervous? ‘On your marks!
Get set!’ The noise around me sinks into an empty void in my mind. The gunshot rings out, and for half a millisecond, I'm unable to move. I push off immediately after that daunting moment, legs and arms swinging wildly. Twenty metres. All of a sudden, time seems to slow down for me. I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through my whole body and shivers down my spine. Sixty metres. Full speed now, and my instincts tell me I’m ahead of everyone. It’s a brilliant feeling to know you’re winning- ‘AH!’ Something sharp under my left foot trips me over, and I land onto the blistering track, elbows below my chin in an attempt to protect my face. My ankle is situated in an extremely uncomfortable and excruciating position. I bite my bottom lip down, hard, to keep myself from screaming. My eyes sting, but I could still spot Dad out from the chaotic crowd. Was he… smiling? Yes, he was. He was mouthing something too. Get up. Get up, Ethan. I hear people calling out for the medics. I watch silently as every boy in the hundred metre event passed me. I knew that the only way to get out of my cage of pressure, routine and unhappiness was to get out myself. Planting my palms onto the track, I started crawling towards the finish line. I felt droplets of water plummet onto my skin and onto to the
ground. It had started raining.