Student submission
20th Annual Paint Race with Solo Runner
Performing Live — You Won’t Want to Miss This!
By: Alyssa Witbeck
“Run faster.”
Blistered toes scream at the rawness
inside my running shoes. “Keep sprinting.”
I gasp, choking on the callous words, desperately
trying to outrun the venomous,
flooding voice in my head. A woman yanks
on the leash of her irate
canine as I pass them on the asphalt.
My tongue smacks my lips, tasting
salt and paint. “Why are you slowing
down? You know you’re worthless,
right? Pitiful.” I accelerate.
Spectators, each of them
clutching a can of paint.
They slink across the university campus,
fingers wrapped around paintbrushes.
Backs poised in attack
position, fiery predatory eyes.
Ready, always ready.
A can opens and green paint replaces
the air, specks floating like a slow motion movie,
verdantly biting my neck.
I hear artificial clapping, yet
more paint flings. “Faster.”
Azure footprints smudge
the laminate grocery store aisles.
I screech past ice cream, cereal,
and carts filled with produce.
Colors attack.
My once hazel eyes now
indigo, cheeks stained ochre.
Strangers shoot plastic smiles at me as I pass.
Maybe if I sprint forever they won’t try to
change me with pigment.
“Coward. You don’t deserve
to rest. You shouldn’t exist.”
That voice sprays paint too.
I inhale it, while dizziness twists
its way through my mind. But
I don’t stop running.
Eight seasons change and I
never slow down. Crusty paint
works me raw, flaking off and polluting
the air like pollen in allergy season;
new paint layers oil on my skin.
Will this ever be enough? More paint.
“If you stop, everyone will know
you’re weak. You will always be
broken,” the voice stirs.
Wait. My cracking lips barely
form around the word.
For what?
I round the corner of the bases
alongside the little league player.
He turns, and his teeth spits lavender.
I feel the sticky paint in my
socks; it’s purple today. Yesterday it was
charcoal gray.
I don’t want to run anymore.
I don’t want their colors tinting my body.
My crispy,
rainbow hair cracks.
I gingerly dip my toe
in clear lake water. My running shoes are
exposed on a rock, the worn out soles still laced
with paint. My toe ripples clouds
of orange, pink, and sage. I close my eyes.
Deep water wombs me, colors racing
out of the ends of my hair, toxins leaking
from my heart. I swallow, completely
blanketed in water. I can
finally breathe.
Alyssa Witbeck is a Junior studying English with an emphasis in creative writing and a minor in family and human development.