Children's Fiction
I picture him in his dirty clothes, with his knotted hair, and I feel annoyed. I am tired of feeling bad for him. It isn't my fault he was the way he was.
I suppose I could be less invisible if I were one of the guys who joked around in the locker room. Or if I broke curfew. Or if I complained. It's just easier to not be noticed. That way people don't expect things from you. There's no pressure, nothing to fear.
Halfway down the run I knew I was skiing the best I ever had. If I kept pushing, I would easily stay at number one.
Beneath my helmet, I grinned my grin of fear. And as I cut into a steep turn, I saw it. But couldn't believe it.
Wire. Black wire stretched between two trees at waist height. I was flashing toward it at thirty meters per second. Hitting the wire at that speed would slice me in two.
