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120
The Race
Back downstairs, Isaac was training as usual. With each stroke
through the water, he pictured himself there in the stadium during
the Olympic Games of 2068. Hearing the roar of the crowd. All
cheering for who they thought was Eugene Goodman.
‘
’14 days,’ Isaac said, his hollow voice reverberating off the steel walls
of the room.
‘Stay still,’ Eugene replied quietly, ‘the blood transfusion is almost
done. The test should come out fine.’
‘And the urine samples?’
‘They’re in the bag. It’s done.’ Eugene soothed, pulling the needle
out of Isaac’s arm.
Thirteen days later, Isaac was sitting in a laboratory, waiting. The
roomwas completely silent, and there was a faint taste of disinfectant
in his dry mouth. Footsteps from the hallway were growing louder
and louder against the marble floors. A tall woman with a tight bun
and pointed nose motioned for Isaac to sit on the bench for her to
take a DNA sample.
She withdrew a Genotester; a thin needle with a small screen
attached.
The doctor jabbed the needle into Isaac’s arm, and after a few
seconds the screen lit up displaying the name ‘Eugene Goodman’
and then ‘Valid’ underneath.
‘Thank you. You may leave now.’
Although relieved and stunned that their plan had worked, Isaac
awoke the next morning feeling nauseated. Today was the day he
would compete. Today was also his last day alive.
The stadium was even bigger than he had imagined. When Isaac
stepped out into the spotlight, everything, every sound and sight, was
greater than the scene he had been picturing for so long in his mind.
Walking towards the starting blocks, Isaac could feel his legs
shaking uncontrollably. He could only hope his body would not fail
him too early. The deafening roar of the crowd seemed to have
stopped as the eight contestants stepped on to their blocks and got
into position.
This was it. This was everything Isaac had worked for. It was his
chance, his chance to prove that his genes, although deemed to
be flawed by science, did not define him or hold back what he
could achieve.
11