It’s Friday, so it must be time for another drabble, the 100-word stories that force you to make it short (but not necessarily sweet). Join in with your own 100 word stories on Fridays, and tag them with “friday drabble”. Link to them in the comments and/or on Twitter with the hashtag #fridaydrabble.
Arms pumping, legs churning, he sprinted toward the finish line. The broken pavement beneath his running shoes tried to trip him up, and only sheer luck kept him vertical, and in the lead.
He flipped a glance over his shoulder, gauging how far back the others were. Could he make it before they caught up to him? Lungs and body burning, he prayed silently that it would be so.
He crossed over the line barely ahead of the pack, and collapsed under their weight.
For the zombies, you see, it was never about the race, but only about the finish.