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The Boy Who Ran

Updated on March 18, 2015

The Boy who ran

The rushing wind swerved the lush long brown hair into a flowing waves. Every force of brushing air lifted up the locks on boy’s head onto an elevating space. The sequence of its movement increased, leaving the footprints behind as they distanced away from each subsequent prints in a flashing instance of disappearance. The feeling of sensational beating of the pounding heartbeat, invigorated Christopher’s endorphin. There was nothing like a good run. The running made Christopher forget, not purpose of neglecting his responsibilities, but letting his mind to go absent, emptying the things that disrupted his pursuit by way of sanguinity. The dirt trail that stood along the edge of the corn field seemed to be beyond the reach of his ability, but Christopher kept his running because this was the way he found the peace in this unpredictable world of consequentiality. Every decision he embarked had consequent results, whether that resulted in his favor or not. His will was determined by his selfish pursuances, even the people he befriended was decided upon by how his temperament was compatible to that particular person. Whether he had a futuristic free-will, that his choice was the determined factor how his universe will come into a some form of a conclusion, was in doubt, because his preferences was incompatible to how people around him perceived their own universes.

“Hey Christopher? How far did you run so far?”

A young man, who lived near town Christopher’s home joined him on the run.

“Not too far, I started recently. You know?. Running on this stretch of space is not rewarding to my achieving comprehension, because I don't know how far I had distanced myself from where I started. The scenery before me is too alike. The corn fields after corn fields. Even the paved road look the same.”

“Christopher. So you don’t know how far you have come? Do you know what time you began your run? Right now, it’s two in the afternoon.”

“I am not certain, but I think it was around one when I began. So I supposed I had distanced around seven or eight miles.”

“Christopher, you should run professionally. You are made for this, physically and mentally. You have both the mental capacity and the physiology to performed the task.”

The pace reduced to the level of rapid jog. They both spoke without irreducible language. They both were experienced in running and speaking simultaneously. The talk went on until they diverted their paths separately on to the planes of endless inhabited greens. The town Christopher lived was minuscule, not in the terms of square miles, but inhabitants. The little town consisted of three thousand and the adjacent small localities were even less. Christopher did not know where he was heading, but the realization settled upon, that he became worried because his mother might be waiting for him for dinner if he goes back too late. Christopher did not want his mother to be concerned on his whereabouts, but he conceptualized that worrying was part of human essence, without worrying, there was no reason to pursuit ones present predicament for better future. How trifling was human to be so mindful of such inconsequentiality, the reason behind this madness was because humans were insecure; unknowable reality of future occurrence reinvigorated our uncertainty of our existence and trivializing with the small concerns by being over-occupied in our thoughts, so much so that people become dependent on a controlled medication, as Christopher gathered during his own version of therapy; running.

Christopher arrived at the place where the roads were placed between the unimpressed homes. The narrowing of the pavements was not perceived accurately, it only seemed to look that way because of the houses that stood next to the 25mph zone road. Christopher, during the running through bristles of green blades, decided to make his presence known before few residences of next town over. He periodically made a visit to several older townspeople to comfort their later years of loneliness. Not only the visitation provided those people the receiving of altruism, Christopher also provided the services in delivering mails or small packages to the neighboring towns. The mails took at least couple of days to arrived at their destinations, even when they were for only several miles from their homes. In this vast space of land, where the towns were located quite distance apart, the Postal Service could not provide the service immediately with next day service. The main Postal Service hub provided service to the residence of 50miles radius. And then, it took at least a day to reshuffle all the mails it received from the multiple townspeople and it took another day to delivered to the appropriate recipients. Most of the senior citizens were not tech savvy, so almost every communication was exchanged through written letters formulated by pens. Christopher, gladly volunteered to carried those written correspondents to the respective recipients throughout the neighboring residences of his home.

The running was his means and ends, and taking on the tasks of his volunteering, he had the more of a reason to conduct his responsibility, not just merely to released the tension he wanted to be relieved of. Christopher made his stops along the house that aligned with the main road that led to the interstate freeway. He was acquainted with three elder couples and two widows. When he knocked on the doors, only three responded; two couples, and one widow. They expressed welcoming hospitalities to entered their homes, but Christopher declined their requests, and asked whether they had any mails to carried to the respective recipients. Only person needed to have a mail to be delivered was a couple who were in the beginning stages of senilities. The mail was for a small farming equipment store. The store was almost twenty miles away. Christopher gasped for a second. He was not worried with the distance, but his concern was due to him being late to the dinner. But the worrying contemplation did not affect to him to have a prolonging hesitation, but he quickly offered a smile and then grabbed the thin mail from the elderly man.

“If I knew you were coming, I would not have placed a stamp on it.”

Christopher gave a slight grin, and began his delivery.

In the moment of instance, he was able to examined the address where it was located. He did not know how he acquired the knack to quickly figured out where the place of delivery was, but he did. There weren’t so many homes and buildings stood along the roads around the remote areas of the state, so it was not too difficult to navigate the places he had to conduced his destination. He was sure that figuring it out the addresses in the big city like Chicago, will have been much monumental task.

There was no culpability on his endeavor, nothing that would signified any moral imperatives on his conduct. It was a way to found himself. Everyone looks for an escape from his stressful predicament, unable to found the answers to the distortions of how he views himself; so he leaves his wife, he runaway from his children, he has an affair, go for a long drive, drinks alcohol until he passes out, climb mount Everest, or even die by a self-inflicted violence. Even pursuing some form of acclaim is to found peace within oneself; academic or political attainments, becoming lawyer, doctor or engineer, is all meant to released the tension of inscrutable feeling of emptiness.

When a person manufactured any kind of decision, he or she has no affirmation whether that choice of that particular path have a defining meaning, regardless of possessing variable options. What defined person’s happiness was predetermined by the culture he was born and nurtured from. All the things that factored into a person’s conception on the meaning of purposefulness was already preordained by his birth. Whether person become an orphan or nurtured by two parents household was not chosen by that person. Even the environment where that person was raised, was not determined by the choice he had made but was provided for him even before he became self-conscious of his choosing. If Christopher was not born in such a rural region of this great landscape, maybe his emptiness might not be reverberating with a particular set of belief that he had about himself, remedying by constant running in escape. But, instead, filling the void that he had carried with would have been occupied by some other form of achievement, like a professional career. He conceived without any recourse how he had defined the reason behind the madness of human acclimation, that when a person lived among cluttering of many individuals, the feeling of meeting the expectation of his accomplishments and being respected by his peers will be the essence of his being. How he was spending his days presently, after his high school graduation, was just a different way of keeping his time occupied so that he will not feel the obsolete of his glooming insignificance.

The sunlight started to fall beneath the horizon. The circular rotation of its Earth had reached the point where day’s end was approaching on to the darkness. The destination seemed nowhere in sight, but Christopher was assured that he will be at the final point. The running was gasping his ability to absorbed the oxygen into his lung in a normal sequence of exhalation. But his ligaments functioned without hindering his viable movements. The glowing light that brighten the day faded into a glaring sphere that seemed to distance away from him. He did not slowed, but actually increased his speed because the day was coming to a closure. In span of time that he was not induced with any disreputable thoughts that preoccupied him, he finally reached the place where he had promised the written message to be delivered. He had no idea on the content of the mail, nor did he care. He opened the door of the shop and presented the mail to the clerk who standing behind the desk, who happened to be also the owner.

“Thank you for bringing the mail to me. Mr. and Mrs. Davinville were really worried that they will not be able to pay me for the service I rendered for them last month. Let’s see, oh great. The check in the amount of three thousand dollars. Splendid! How did you get here? I don't see a car in the front of shop.”

A curious look was pondering on the face of man who operated the farm equipment shop.

“Sir, I ran from the Davinville’s. Now I have to run back to my home. Already, the sun had almost set and I don't think I will be back by the dinner time.”

“Well my son, you just have to make that run more hurriedly. You must have thought over prior to taking on this task that you were pressing for a time. You have to learn to manage your time and your responsibilities accordingly.”

A slight smile incorporated how Christopher’s perceived the words that were spoken. And then he resumed his running onto a leading path where his next appointment had to be met. The destination was two hours away, and he did not have the confidence on his ability to be at his home before the dinner was served, but he still had to make a run for it. He ran and ran, letting ago any of the thoughts that will caused him to doubt on his endeavoring. The sequence of every direction he took was on the right course of his accomplishment. The scenery that was exposing before his view was total emptiness of nothingness. Besides the natural wonder of prescript creation, there was nothing caused his awareness to come alive in an intriguing favoring. That was how he envisioned his own being, in that, although he possessed the self conceptualization how he was choosing his life’s courses, the reason behind that faculty was undecipherable. It was due to nothingness he experienced incessantly. There was a gaping hole in his soul that seemed to blackened his longing, to see with some form of purpose. He did not quite understand the faculty, whereby his ability to measure how he went about his life was echoing with perceptible joyous inclination was nowhere to be visualized. But this was the nature of humanity; in the end, every purposes and actions were destined to be buried in our graves.

The length of time it will take to his home was still far, but the luck was on his side this evening. Someone he was familiar stopped beside of him and offered him a ride to his home.

“Hey Christopher! I see you running again. It’s getting dark. Why don't I drive you home so that you will at your home for a dinner.”

Christopher could not refused, because his refusal will mean he had neglected his mother’s worries. So he gotten inside of the pickup truck and rode with his fellow town man. The ride lasted fifteen minutes but it would have taken him more than an hour to reach his home. He was led out at the cross section from where his house located. When he was about to walked to other side of the sidewalk, a neighborhood girl came before him and began conversing.

“Hey Christopher, how are you?”

“Hi Carol. Are you coming back from somewhere?”

“No, not exactly but I was just going for a walk after my dinner. Hey why don’t you come by my house tonight? I am having several people over. One of the person is bringing couple of bottles of vodkas. It will be fun.”

Christopher was delighted for the invitation. In this small rural town of three thousand, there were only a handful of single girls and Carol was by and far, the prettiest. Christopher was gladdened with a shining brightness and accepted the invitation. He went inside of his home and took a shower, the first time in three days during this month of September. Christopher ate the meatloaf his mother cooked quickly and tried on his only three wardrobes he possessed so that he may be visibly impressionable to Carol. Christopher was ecstatic and before his excitement wore off, he rummage through his closet to found something that will match his outfit.

After an hour of fumbling on his limited selection of his clothing, he made his way to Carol’s. She only lived few blocks away, but it seemed the distance was further away than from Davinville’s to the farm equipment shop because of his petrifying anticipation. He rang the bell, the door was opened, but not by Carol but by the three star jock from his graduating class. Christopher entered timidly, disappointed by unexpected welcoming at the house belonging to the hostess. There was not much celebration proceeding at the large house that could have accommodated the family of four several times over. Carol was nowhere to seen as Christopher move around the house observing every person who was gleeing with alcohol highs. Finally, Carol greeted Christopher, but her smile was not expressive as she had shown earlier in the evening. But she still visibly showcased the facial movement of gladness. Christopher drank his first six ounces mixed with vodka and a tonic water and then drank another glass without him conscious of how quickly he let the alcohol to be absorbed in his blood circulation. And then, he witnessed the scene he did not expect nor wanted to be exposed to; the jock caressing Carol all over her neck. Christopher froze for a moment and then when he became aware of what was proceeding before his eyes, he left the house quickly, and then directed toward the path that led to west. He then began to run in the dark, dimming light was barely exposing the surface he was stepping on, but he did not care, he wanted to run, run and run. Because running was the only means him to erased the memories of his unfortunate. The sky was empty of any clouds, and this region where the toxic fumes did not elevated onto the night’s sky, the stars that were positioned in the unlimited space of universe, guided Christopher the path where he ought to be directing. Christopher looked up periodically, as he follow one particular star that shined more than any other surrounding stars, hoping that he will be led to the place where he will be finally be found.


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