The Apocalypse

Rivulets of sweat flowed down his back and soaked his shirt; his hands were wet, his legs shaking. He was tired and he did not know how much further he needed to go. It was supposed to be a marathon, but why did he no longer know how far he needed to go before he received affirmation that he had won?


He tries to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, attempting to make each step count. He never signed up for a marathon so why was he running? He did not ask to be placed in the rumbling crowd of runners or for the stupid registration number to be taped onto his shirt. He was there not by his own will, he was placed there by some indefinite power and now he was supposed to just run? They handed him a booklet and whispered paltry advice, and he was supposed to make it happen - just like that?

His throat had long since dried out, the stitch he felt in his sides had long since turned into a numb tumour, his feet weighed a tonne and yet he still trudged on. There was an allocated distance and he needed to complete the race in order to be deemed a winner. He was slowing down – he knew it. Tears stung his eyes, his breathing was becoming faster, he was becoming more laboured, he was getting distracted and losing sight of the goal that he had never seen to begin with - but had always dreamed of.

It is always easy in the beginning. You crawl then you walk and finally you run. Somewhere in the middle, you are supposed to know where you are running to. He still did not know where he was going or how much further he had to go before some kind of a sign showed him the way. All he knew is that he needed to keep running. Everything would eventually fall into place. He needed to achieve something – anything – at the end of the infinitely long marathon. It was painful, it was dreary and worst of all, it never seemed to end. He kept running, seeking comfort in the fact that everyone else was still running.

He did not notice when things began to change, when he had made twists and turns. As darkness enveloped him and he tried to take one last step to wherever it is he was supposed to run, he realised he had been running for nothing. The world became quiet and he was all alone. Just like everyone else who had been running. A knowing voice whispered, “Now you have arrived. There is no winner. There’s just you and them.”

The marathon was pointless and running was moot, he was sad. He never had any direction. He never had any future. He never had any purpose. He was just like “them”. Running, not really racing, not really walking - not really anything. They all just ran just as he ran; for nothing. The numbers pinned on his shirt disappeared, the crowd dissolved and he was left alone. He no longer felt the pain in his thighs, his eyes were dry and the burden of running was lifted.

Born without purpose and further fuelling purposelessness, human beings just know how to run. Find solace in the fact that everyone is running, just like he was - just like you are. Go forth and run to wherever it is you will find the darkness, run your purposeless life as it has been routed out for you and bask in the knowledge that mankind was never meant to amount to anything.