Posted in Writing

the runner

with rapid, vacant blasts the runner moves, the landscape zooming by, b-roll footage in panoramic peripheral, with no end goal, no finish line, just raw, pure movement…movement…movement…movement…movement…just…keep moving…just…keep…moving…muscles…pounding…pavement…movement…movement…just keep moving…brain switches off…don’t think…don’t think…don’t think… just move…just move…just move…and the muscles are independent now, soulless, dead, movement…until it is not.

The runner collapses in a heap, and against all will, strength, desire…begins to feel.

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