Words written: 2,726
Setting: Seattle
Perspective: Renata’s Narrative

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More like a paragraph, and it just so happens that this paragraph opens Renata’s narrative.

I watched the time count up as I ran faster than usual on one of my gym’s many treadmills. 29:46. 29:47. 29:48. Before I could see 29:49, my cell phone vibrated harshly against the built-in water bottle holder. My ex-husband Patrick’s smiling face popped up on the display for the second time during my work out. I ignored it and increased the speed on the treadmill for the last ten seconds, hoping that if I ran even faster I would feel less frustrated with him. 29:58. 29:59. 30:00. Cool down. But running faster hadn’t made me feel better, it only made me trip over my own feet. As my body fell toward the horrifying conveyer belt, I thanked my lucky stars that I had remembered to adhere the emergency stop cord to my t-shirt. I hit the rubber surface hard and heard the women around me yelp at the sight of my fall and the sound of my thud. I pulled myself up, red with embarrassment and sore all over. I told myself right then and there I would never again act so stupid because my ex-husband was giving me grief. Never.

© 2009 Rochelle Michael