Haa... haa... haa
Labored breathing echoed across the expansive sports grounds.
The lights overhead illuminating the surroundings, enabling one to make out the solitary figure of a young man jogging on the track .
He was no older than 18.
The boy's strides were unsteady. His pace off-balance, tired. He looked like he was about to collapse at any given moment.
But the boy pushed forward.
Even when his vision started to blur at the edges, even when his lungs felt like they were on fire, even when his clothes was damp with sweat–
The boy still kept going.
Only when he crossed the finish line did he stop.
"Hahahaha"
He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh at his display.
One would swear that by the way he was breathing heavily, by his sweaty clothes and his unsteady steps, that he had been at it for hours.
But, honestly? It was barely ten minutes.
And that's why he felt so disgusted by his performance. He felt pathetic.
He couldn't believe that he was only capable of his much, couldn't believe that he fell this far.
"Damn! If only I listened."
And with that realization came regret.
Now laying on his back, he stared up into the evening sky, watching the stars
"Beautiful."
Even though he was in the city, for some reason he could see the sky very clearly tonight. More vivid than ever.
So he layed there, staring, until his mind drifted to how far he would've gotten if only he listened.
But, alas. He was a stubborn brat that thought he knew better than everyone, and the universe made sure he paid dearly for his ignorance.
He thought back to how his parents had warned him, how he had shut them out, how he told them that they were overbearing, overreacting, and that he was grown.
Perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
********
It happened a few months ago, he had just been accepted to an elite high-school on a track and field scholarship.
His friends wanted to celebrate his success by going to explore an abandoned mansion.
He agreed without hesitation.
His parents had warned him that it was dangerous and that they should go somewhere else instead, but he didn't listen.
He raised his voice, told them that they were too overprotective. Suffocating. Never giving him room to breathe, to try new things.
Always there. Telling him what he should or shouldn't do.
When to do what.
How to do what.
Never letting him figure it out on his own.
Never letting him make mistakes and learning through experience like any other teenager.
He stormed out of the house without waiting for permission and joined his friends on their expedition.
For the first hour everything was going smoothly and they explored the whole mansion.
He remembered the mansion still had all its furniture, the previous owners probably bought new ones for their new residence.
They went from the bedrooms with its decayed beds, to the bathrooms and even the attic.
But things took a turn for the worst when they went to check out the pool.
The pool still had a bit of water in it, but the water was green and murky and gave of an unpleasant smell.
For some reason he had the childish urge to poke in the water, and when he went searching for a stick to aid him with his urge, he didn't realize that was too close to edge and fell into the pool, he hit his head at the bottom and loss consciousness.
He awoke from a coma two weeks later to the news that he contracted a parasite that ate his left lung.
And to stop it from killing him, the doctors had to cut out a chunk of his lung and that left him with breathing problems which resulted in his track and field career ending at the ripe age of 17.
To doctors had told him to stay away from strenuous activities that put too much pressure on his lungs as he only had one properly functional lung and too much strain on it could backfire.
But he refused to give up on his dream, he refused to believe that all of it ended just like that, without him ever to partake in a national event, without experiencing what it feels like to receive cheers from the stands.
That is why, every night at 19:00.
When everyone went home to prepare for school and work the next day.
When the sports ground is empty.
He comes here.
Just to make sure that it isn't real.
Just to try and prove that it isn't over.
That he still had a chance of living his dream.
And that is why, every night, at 23:00.
When everyone was sleeping, already done preparing for school and work the next day.
He leaves the empty football pitch.
With tears in his eyes.
Because it is real.
It is over...
...And he has no chance of ever living his dream.
********
Sniff... sniff... sniff
Crying noises echoed throughout the empty streets.
The streetlights illuminated the surroundings, enabling one to make out the solitary figure of a crying young man walking down the streets.
The boy's steps were unsteady, his feet dragging. Tears clouding his vision.
But the boy didn't worry, because this was routine.
Every night he goes to the track with hope in this heart, and every night he walks back with tears in his eyes. Hope shattered.
Gasp
Suddenly his breath caught, he staggered.
He couldn't breath, no matter how hard he tried.
His legs grew weak, he dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck as if trying to pry it open.
He tried calling for help, but only wheezing sounds came out.
The boy's vision darkened at the edges. His eyes turned bloodshot, face turned blue from the lack of oxygen.
He fell on his back.
He could feel his life slipping away. He didn't have long left.
The doctors had warned him, they told him the consequences of his actions.
But still he pressed on and pushed his lungs to limit.
He argued that humans are great at adapting and he believed that if he repeatedly put pressure on his lungs, they would start to adapt, they would get used to the strain, and in no time they would be capable of working completely fine.
He believed that with this method he could again gain the opportunity of living his dream, that everything will work out if he just worked hard and had patience.
But reality proved otherwise. It showed that sometimes no matter how hard you work, it just won't work out.
So that's why, when breathing became even harder, when his vision started to blur, he didn't fight it, he wasn't stubborn, not this time.
He just layed there, his hands lying limply at his sides, looking at the stars.
Tonight they looked more beautiful than ever before, more vivid. As if they wanted him to see them in their full glory one last time.
So instead of being sad of his imminent death, instead of wallowing in despair, he appeared... content.
That's because he was.
He was content.
Because even though it didn't work out.
Even after months of no progress.
Even when it became evident that it was futile.
He never gave up.
He never stopped.
He kept pushing.
So even when he stopped breathing.
Even when his vision faded.
Even when his heart stopped beating and his brain ceased functioning.
He was content with himself.