Don't Stop.
My neck burns and I bolt. Out the door and I’m gone. Running and I can’t remember why. Running and running and running. I’m not out of breath. Am I breathing? It doesn’t matter. I’m sweating because it’s humid, or I think it’s humid. Is it raining? I can’t see anything. Actually, I can see everything. It’s not raining, it’s sunny. I’m still running. The solid earth beneath my feet seems to punch back with every footfall. I’m surprised at how solid it is when everything else is liquid.
I look down and see my arm stretched out before me. When did that happen? My eyes move down my arm to my hand; fingers outstretched and waiting. Waiting and grasping. I’m still not out of breath. But I can’t breathe. It’s so wet out that my clothes are soaked. They’re so heavy I can’t move. I need to make it.
Make it where? The place. But I just came from the place? The sun stares down at me, making the liquid around me hot. It’s not liquid, it’s just air. Keep going. Run. Get to the place. I feel my arm growing, leading me to where I need to be. It’s getting harder to breathe and my clothes are weighing me down, but I can’t stop running.
The air is full of dread. It’s filling my lungs and stomach and eyes and I can’t move. But I’m still running. There’s thick liquid in my chest and I gasp for air but it’s too thick. I panic and fall to the ground. The Earth is sludge and it’s swallowing my feet. I’m melting, but I’m not actually melting, it’s just the Earth. Is it the Earth? I run but I don’t move. The place.
My arm knows where to go. I’m running. I see the place before me. Miles away and it’s getting further and further. But I’m running so fast the earth breaks around my feet. Every footfall cracks the liquid dread like gravel. My arm is leading me to the place.
I open my mouth for air and instead I say, “If you would fucking help me I could be there.”
The place is closer now, and I can see the window. It’s glowing orange and purple. The Earth knows what I’m trying to do, even though I still do not. It’s pushing back against my feet and I feel like I’m running on springs. It heard me and it is helping.
With a snap it is still. The earth is calm, the air is light. The sun is warm, my clothes are dry. I breathe freely. I am at the place.
I walk up the wooden stairs that are creaking before they feel my weight. Behind me is dread, but it knows its boundaries. My outstretched arm reaches for the door knob, and it’s cool to the touch. I turn and push. Orange and purple light surrounds me as I walk into the room. The box sits in the middle on a table, its lid askew.
I reach in.
My neck burns and I bolt.