Anticipation is tangible, even from flickering television to sunken sofa.
“Why don’t you ever talk to me, Jesse?”
Taught, strong limbs swing shadows across the track.
“All you do is watch those runners. You’re not a runner no more; you know that, right?”
Athletes stalk to their blocks; praying, kicking, crouching; poised. Waiting.
“I’m getting sick of it. Sick of it! D’ya hear me, Jesse?”
“You turn around right now, Jesse Wellesley, or ..or ..I’ll shoot!”
“And that, officer, was when he grabbed the pistol from me and fired it into the couch. I ain’t seen him since.”
©2021 Chelsea Owens
100 Words, written for Deb’s 50 Word Prompt.