Running With Purpose Novels & Stories

I had stopped running because running had felt like managing, like burning off the pull energy that used to sit in my chest without direction, and I hadn't needed to run it off since I had understood what it was and what it was for. I ran anyway. The beach was empty and grey and the ocean was loud and cold, and I ran until I had used my legs for something purely physical, without purpose, without destination. It felt good. When I came back Karl was on the porch with two cups and he looked at my face and said: "Good run." "Yes," I said. "You haven't run since I've known you," he said. "I know." He handed me the cup. "What changed," he said.

How could I, a dying man, convince an ancient entity of my unwavering purpose when I barely had the will to draw another breath? Misha leaned in, her gaze locking with mine. "Look at me, Damon. Look at our future. Focus on that. Your purpose is to live. To be a father. To be my husband. To protect our family. That is your truth. That is your purpose." I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to push past the fear, past the pain, past the creeping oblivion. For her. For them. This was the only thing I had left. My love. My purpose.

I can just imagine the shock on their faces, right before the disgust and disdain would surely follow suit. The thought of what I was planning to end the night with, made me feel disgusted in myself for a fleeting moment— the feeling of disgust has been swimming through my veins since the moment I made up my mind to finally come here, this morning. I have a girlfriend for heaven’s sake, a beautiful one at that. Am I even entitled to use the word ‘heaven’ at the moment? Knowing that I was currently in a place where churches preach against and also vehemently warn their members to steer completely clear of.

I learned to sleep with one eye open and wake with purpose. There were moments when I thought of running—packing Avis in the car and disappearing somewhere no one knew the name Palmer. But running would teach her the men in our lives determined our fate. I would not give her that lesson. If staying meant fighting, I would fight until I had nothing left.

As I was running, I had only one intention. I needed to get the fuck out of here. Just as I was about to run into the bush, my head slammed against something. From the impact, my head hit the ground. I wanted to stand up but I couldn’t move. My eyes closed weakly and my body succumbed to a total darkness… ***

The sound of our breathing and the soft impact of our boots on the pavement were the only noises we allowed ourselves. As we ran, I forced myself to focus on the moment, on the simple mechanics of movement. One foot in front of the other. Eyes scanning for threats. Ears attuned to any sound out of place. The curse could burn all it wanted, I wouldn't break. Not here, not now. Not with them watching. But deep down, I knew time was running out. The mark was spreading, its influence creeping through my system like poison. Sooner or later, it would claim what was promised. The only question was how much damage I'd do when it finally took control.

She stopped speaking because Adrian had already left the room. Then she slumped back on the bed, gave an exasperated sigh, covered her hands with her face, and cried. Adrian knew how important the pack run was to werewolves, yet he was doing this to her, especially now that she was pregnant. A pack run was an extensive training for all wolves which helped them to defend themselves in the face of danger. But to a pregnant woman, it was different and compulsory. It helped them breathe well, it eased back pain, as well as constipation.

“I know elite life can be difficult to adapt to, that’s why I’ve been thinking… you need to have something to focus on. A purpose." I looked up at him, confused. "A purpose?" “Whoo,” he went on,.his eyes brightening. "A charity project. Something meaningful. You could do work with underprivileged children, or perhaps sponsor girls who cannot afford an education. Whatever you're passionate about." My chest tightened. “Victor, I don’t know if I’m mature enough for something like that.” "You are," he said firmly. “And it’ll keep you busy. You'll be busy, fulfilled. There won’t be time to be … aimless.”

Of not knowing in advance. Of tending things that might not root. Of staying when staying required the daily choice. All real. All chosen. Not without weight. With weight. The choosing under weight. The commitment that was not naive. That knew the cost. That chose anyway. She thought about what made the choosing possible. What the quiet fuel actually was. Not purpose alone. Purpose alone burned out. She had watched people who ran on purpose without ground beneath it. They moved fast. Then stopped. The purpose consuming them.

He dodged broken glass, swerved around abandoned vehicles, and sprinted with a desperate, all-consuming purpose. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. This was the most important race of his life, a race to prove to Megan, to her family, and to himself that he was a man who was ready to be there for them, no matter the obstacle. As he ran, a profound, gut-wrenching realization hit him. He was doing this for more than just himself. He was running for his son. For the life that was about to enter the world, a life he had almost lost before it had even begun.