The Story of Poogle Number Five

     Poogles, of course, are known for their plump forms and stubby legs. As a species, they were not made to run. Yet at a world-famous stadium in Faerieland, five Poogles sprint towards a finish line for glory, for fame, and for the sheer thrill of the race. These particular Poogles were made to run.

     Except for Chubs.

     Chubs is Number Five. He is always the least favorite, the least chosen, the least likely to win. And yes, he is rarely ever the first one to finish. Some mock him for his lack of endurance on the track. Others say that he has no power, no kick to separate himself from his opponents. He is slightly pudgier than the rest, and consequently, he is slower. But he has spirit; he has always had spirit. And those that have known him all his life cannot deny that inside of him is the fire of a victor.

     Chubs knows this. He has come this far. Despite all of the obstacles standing in his way, he has come this far.

      A young Poogle sits on the asphalt, watching his classmates play with a flying disc. A pink Usul takes a running start and, with a flick of her wrist, throws the disc at a blue Draik. The Draik swoops into the air, catches the disc with ease, and tosses it at a white Blumaroo. The Poogle looks on longingly.

     "Hey, Chubs, whatcha doing just sitting there?" the Blumaroo calls out. "Come on and play with us."

     Warily, Chubs gets to his feet and approaches the other pets. Some of them, including the white Blumaroo, smile at him encouragingly, but others, like the Usul, smirk as he walks onto the lawn. The Blumaroo throws the disc towards him, but a gust of wind blows it away to the left. Not wanting to miss the catch, Chubs trots towards the disc, which is still in midair. He is slow and clumsy, though, and whilst running he somehow trips over his own front feet and lands headfirst with a thud onto the grass. He hears gasps and some laughter.

     "He can't even run ten feet," a female voice exclaims.

     "And that surprises you?"

     Chubs looks up to see the pink Usul giggling with her friend, a shadow Kacheek. He feels his face blush scarlet. Now everyone is laughing, except for the Blumaroo, who runs over and offers to help him get up. Chubs turns his back, gets up on his own, and walks away. This is why he doesn't participate in games.

     The start of any race is daunting. There is no telling how the race will go, who will finish first, who will finish last. Chubs dreads the "Ready... Set... Go!" signalling him to kickstart onto the track.

      The cheers, however, are not so daunting. Among the vast crowd of race spectators, he hears voices chant "Number Five! Number Five! Number Five!" He's the one those voices are cheering for. He's Number Five, the underdog, the one that onlookers secretly root for. Suddenly he doesn't feel so nervous anymore. The other Poogles to his left are fidgeting, clearly anxious about the outcome of the race. But Chubs doesn't care so much about being a winner or a loser. He's made it this far. He has become a participant in one of the greatest sports in Neopia.

     It's the first Poogle race he's ever seen in his life. Four of the fastest runners in all of Neopia are about to compete against each other in front of his very eyes. From the stands, Chubs watches the Poogles line up in order at the starting line. Number One, the crowd favorite. Number Two, the speedy but distracted one. Number Three, the tactical but clumsy one. And Number Four, the veteran of the track.

     Chubs feels the same twinge of longing that he did watching his friends play with the flying disc. He wants to partake in such an event, but he knows that he isn't meant to. He's always been on the sidelines. Maybe it's just better that way.

     But as he watches the Poogles take off, his heart beats faster and faster as if he's the one running. All around him, Neopians are cheering for their favorites, urging them on to the finish line. The Poogles leap over each hurdle with ease, their strides long and powerful. Chubs wonders how they can even manage to run like that. Aren't they Poogles, after all? They have the same short legs that he does.

     Then it hits him. They're Poogles, after all. They have the same physical features as he does. Each one of them is a bit rotund or a bit awkward-looking, but each one has made it to the finish in the blink of an eye. Not a single one of them has fallen over a hurdle or given up in the middle of the race.

     Chubs hates the middle of the race. He hates seeing his opponents creep up on him out of the corner of his eye. He hates feeling as though his heart might burst out of his chest. But he just keeps running as fast as he can, because he knows his legs can take it. His heart can take it. And now, in this race that he's running, he practically flies over the track. He leaps over each hurdle, keeping the finish line in sight. As always, his goal is to finish the race.

     Chubs starts running everyday. He runs on the streets of Neopia Central, paying no attention to the curious pets that stare and point at him as he does his daily workout. He doesn't keep track of the number of miles; rather, he aims to run a set amount of time each day. He still feels clumsy, out of breath, and just plain slow. But he knows that in a week, or in a month, or in a year, he will be a better runner.

     And when Chubs goes home, he has oatmeal and organic peanut butter. He stops buying chips and cookies from the Food Shop. He drinks plenty of water and gets plenty of sleep at night. He realizes that he's never slept better in his whole life.

     Chubs loves the feeling of finishing a race. Each time, he coasts over the finish with adrenaline coursing through his veins. He loves being able to go over to the other Poogles and congratulate them on running a good race.

     So when he reaches the finish line, he looks over to his left to see who's won the race. Oddly enough, there's no one there. Then he sees the others finish - it's Poogle One, then Poogle Three, then Poogle Four, then Poogle Two. But if he was here before Poogle One... what does that mean?

     Chubs blinks, then realizes that he's won the race. He's reached the finish line first. Suddenly he feels an immense sense of joy. His ears perks up when he hears voices scream "Five! Five! Five! Five!" They're all cheering for Number Five, the slow one, the one that is larger than the rest.

     Chubs hears one particular voice screaming louder than the others. He looks over to find the source of the noise, and among the pets of the crowd, he sees a white Blumaroo.

The End