Test, The - Part 4

This is the fourth story in a short series; readers are advised to read the previous stories in this series.

John stared down the path in the narrow tunnel vision of the runner. The world was just the trail. The dirt path was a blur as he sprinted through the thick forest. A boy came up from behind. He noticed the sweat that had soaked through the back of the boy’s white robe and made the triangular upper body more pronounced. “How many guys have passed me now?” he wondered. “10? 20?”

John thought about the assembly that morning and General White’s address. The old man stood in front of thousands of boys in his red robes and gold armor. Neatly shaved and with his balding head likewise shorn to almost the scalp, he had said that 930 boys had failed the soccer match. There were just over 6200 remaining for the next event. “You need not finish first to pass; only the last 10 percent fail this test. I suggest you try to finish in the middle of the pack to conserve your energy for the next events.”

“I wonder if I am in the middle still,” John wondered. Another boy passed him; his red curls bounced with every step. “He looks like a girl,” John thought.

* * *

The rector watched anxiously as the boys emerged from the woods. Boy after boy emerged, but none he recognized. “Where are all the boys from the shelter?” he wondered. “Surely they must be smart and conserving their strength to place in the middle.” Finally, he recognized a face—Tom du Champs, a boy who was renown for getting into trouble emerged from the forests. “Figures he would pass,” the rector mumbled.

* * *

John could tell he was getting close to the end. The forest here started to thin and the underbrush was groomed. The path was also far clearer than deeper in the forest. He accelerated with renewed strength. He saw the end of the forest.

At near a full sprint, he was about to emerge from the forest when he felt his right foot twist. He let out a gasp and fell forward. Without thinking, he caught himself with his hands. He twisted himself to get up, but when he put weight on his right foot, he knew he has sprained it; pain shot from his ankle up his leg at the slightest weight was put on it. Swearing, he limped toward the finish line.

The rector saw the wounded boy limping. He recognized him as John, a quiet boy near the top of his class. Then he saw 3 boys emerge from the woods and pass John. And another 2. John was barely moving compared to the boys passing him.

John tried to ignore the pain and hurry up, but every step on his right foot was shaky as his knee tried to compensate for his swollen ankle. “I’m not going to make it,” he thought.

Agonizingly, John covered the open field at a walk. He recognized a shape at the finish line—it was Justin waving his arms encouraging him on. Then he saw the rector doing the same. He heard his name. His pace quickened to a moderate walk. He could see the line clearly now. He started a slow jog again. Another boy passed him. But he was almost there.

He crossed the line. “5580,” he heard.

“You made it!” Justin was hugging him. John collapsed in exhaustion in his friend’s arms. “When I saw you limping, I thought you were done for!”

* * *

John sat in the bleachers at the finish line watching the swimmers prepare for the ordeal. Due to the huge numbers of swimmers, the 5652 remaining boys were split into 50 groups. As John was injured, he was moved to the last heat to allow time for his ankle to heal. There would be 3 days of swimming the 500-meter course. Justin’s heat was on the first day—his group would have no chance to rest from the 12-km run the day before.

Justin stood at the bank of the Columbia River eyeing the course. In the distance, he could make out the flags marking the end of the .5-km course downriver on the opposite bank. Justin peeled his robe off and began to stretch, self-conscious of his small testicles and uncut penis. He looked around and noticed that at least his cock was larger than most, even if it was uncut—a clear sign he was born outside the capital. But he didn’t find many boys with his small, marble-sized balls.

John could see the boys stripping in the distance and stretch, though he could not identify any of them. Then, he saw an official begin to organize them into a line.

Justin stood between a blond boy about his height and another dark haired kid much bigger than he. The official called for attention and everyone stared at him. “Ready!” Justin stared at his target. “Set!” He prepared his foot in the rocky sand. A gun fired and Justin hurled himself toward the water.

Justin barely felt the cold water splash against his naked legs as he ran into the river, but he shuddered slightly when the frigid waters hit his small scrotum, causing it to pull even tighter to his lean frame. He dove into the water and began a steady rhythm in his freestyle.

John watched as the line entered the water. It seemed that they kept their perfect line until they were swimming. Then, the differences between the front and the back became very apparent. “I hope Justin is in the front,” John thought, as he could not make out anyone’s features.

Justin felt the water draining his energy almost immediately. He glanced up to see how far he had made it and the flags looked as far as they had on shore. He took another breath and continued toward safety.

Justin felt a stab against his left side. In a panic, he pushed his head above water to see the blond kid that had just pushed off his ribcage. Justin, in a fit of anger sprinted toward the offending swimmer.

Justin was always a good swimmer and often swam in the cold river water. The blond was obviously not as competent a swimmer as Justin quickly caught up to him and started to pass him. Just as he was about to overtake the blond, he lifted his left leg up and slammed into the blond’s side. Spinning around, Justin brought his right foot into the boy’s sack, causing him to double up in the water. Avenged, Justin continued his swim to shore.

John caught sight of Justin finally. He looked to be in 5th place or so and had completed three-quarters or more of the course. In a few seconds, he could see the boys were running on the sand toward the finish line. Justin finished 4th overall in his heat. John chucked to himself as he realized that Justin’s balls did not look much smaller than the other guys’ who had just run out of the cold river.

Justin watched as the number of boys grew on the bank of the river.

“101—last passing swimmer.”

Justin looked to the shore to see the blond emerge from the water.

“102.” A guard pulled the blond away.

Justin caught the doomed boy’s eyes and smiled.