A Shortcut to Nowhere

Wymane puffed and wheezed as he stumbled along the marathon trail, sweat pouring from his brow. "Who thought running was a good idea? Oh, wait—me," he muttered, regretting his decision.

Halfway through the course, his legs screamed for mercy. Spotting a dense patch of bushes off the path, he grinned. "Brilliant plan, Wyot," he whispered to himself as he dove into the greenery.

Pulling out his watch, he adjusted its dial. "Just a tiny leap forward, nothing too crazy," he said, activating the device. A hum of energy enveloped him, and in a blink, he reappeared—ahead of the pack, just meters from the finish line.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Wymane smirked and started jogging, arms raised as if he'd earned every step. "They’ll never know," he thought, relishing his impending victory.

But fate, as always, had other plans for him.

A stray root caught his foot, and he tumbled spectacularly, landing face-first in the dirt. The rightful leader of the race, a wiry woman who had fought for every grueling mile, dashed past him without missing a beat. The crowd's cheers shifted to her, roaring with approval as she crossed the finish line.

Wymane sat up, spitting dirt and wiping mud from his face. Bix, his companion bot, spoke to him through the watch, its tone dripping with sarcasm. "Elegant as ever, Wymane. Truly, you’re an inspiration."

"Don’t," Wymane groaned, waving it off.

As the winner basked in her glory, Wymane slinked away, blending into the crowd. "Note to self," he muttered. "Next time, cheat better... or just don’t run at all."

Bix chimed in, "Or, wild idea: try earning it for once."

"Yeah, yeah," Wymane grumbled. But deep down, he knew Bix was right. For now, though, he'd leave the marathons—and the moral victories—to someone else.

Micro stories are a content feature offered by $TIME's dev Woj. Handwritten and accompanied by art, they serve to deepen the story world we're creating here. Enjoy!