Flash Fiction 2nd Place: Emily’s On Track by Alison Wassell
Emily’s on track. She’s reaching her milestones. Babbling, rolling, sitting, crawling, she does them all, just when she should, or before, more often than not. When she smiles for the first time, it’s definitely not wind, and when she laughs, somewhat deprecatingly, it’s at one of her dad’s awful jokes. She uses the sofa to haul herself to a standing position when her cousin, two months older, is still shuffling across the carpet on his bottom. She’s exceptional. The future’s bright, and it belongs to Emily.
Emily’s on track. She’s ticking off targets, racing through reading schemes. She knows what a fronted adverbial is and can use one correctly in a sentence. She has her times tables at her fingertips, all the way to twelve, can multiply and divide with ease. She’s on the top table, model pupil, shining example. Emily’s on her way.
Emily’s not sidetracked by parties, or fun, or hanging around in the park with boys and bottles of cider when she should be doing her homework. Emily’s got no time for just lying looking at clouds, for wondering, for just being Emily. She’s focused, tunnel visioned, single-minded. She can see the light at the end of that tunnel and she’s thundering towards it. Head girl, golden girl, girl most likely to do…something. A starred A Levels then off to university, Russell Group obviously. She’ll choose a STEM subject, no soft fluffy humanities, no thinking about what makes us human. No singing, no dancing, Emily’s no drama queen. She’s on track.
Emily’s on the fast track. She’s surging ahead, smashing through ceilings, souring skyward. Emily’s flying high, fulfilling potential, exceeding expectations, promoted, promoted, promoted. Success smells sweeter than coffee or roses. Emily’s unstoppable.
Emily’s on track to burn out, sometime soon. So says her doctor, so say her colleagues. Emily’s stopped soaring, stopped surging, stopped shining. All she wants to be is still sometimes, and silent. Emily has been stopped in her tracks.
And now Emily wishes she could backtrack, could track back, could do it all again, but differently, beat her own track, not the one laid before her.
Emily’s off the rails, so far off the beaten track that there’s no way back. Emily’s forgotten what a fronted adverbial is, can’t multiply or divide in her head anymore, doesn’t need to, doesn’t care. Emily’s taken herself off on an indefinite gap year, wildly wandering, randomly roaming, standing and staring, mostly just breathing.
Emily’s on her way.
