Mara tied her laces into tight knots, though she'd kept them fairly loosely pulled. She didn't like her shoes to be too snug, as her feet felt claustrophobic. She, herself, wasn't, but she believed her feet to be.

They allowed her feet to move slightly within the footwear, without actually slipping out. There was more room within her shoes than she had around her. Elbows jabbed at her as everyone jostled for position. Others' feet did their best to stand on hers, barely missing them. The Runners were becoming more agitated the longer the Administrator took to drop the flag.

He knew it, too. He was enjoying the anticipation, dragging out the seconds to see how far he could push the crowd. Everyone was aware, but it didn't stop their frustration growing.

Mara wasn't concerned. It was a game. That was all. Bloody and deadly, but still, just a game, and no amount of complaining or pushing your way to the front was going to improve anyone's chances. Where you were in the throng was inconsequential. What mattered was preparation, and she was prepared.

Once the letter had arrived, and once the tears of her father had subsided (after all, his wife had run only a short two years before, and lost), she was able to train, both in body and mind. She'd always been athletic, and was unconcerned about things she had no control over. So, if anyone had a chance, Mara felt she did.

She wasn't alone in that belief, of course, and many of her fellow Runners thought the same of themselves. Most of those would be equally as ready. It was those she had to take note of. The others would fall along the route. She had to put her usual caring disposition to one side. Even if she could help them, she shouldn't. Mustn't. Whether or not they would do so for her, she had to let them be. Let them be buried where they lay, dead or... not.

Finally, the Administrator raised his hand high. The gasp of a thousand competitors sounded as if the whole world had taken a breath... and held it... and...

The hand fell, bringing the flag down with it. With a cheer that chilled Mara with its ridiculousness – there was nothing to be happy about here – people began to move. It was slow at first, as those further forward had to create space for the rest to go from a shuffle to a jog to a sprint. Mara passed some and was passed by many others. She was pacing herself. The race could last two days, with no pause, and strength had to be conserved.

Her only thought, now, was the end. The finish line, wherever that might be, where there would be only one Runner left. Nothing and no one else was important.

Nor was what came afterwards....