Running

She runs against a grey wall. It is so tall that she cannot see the top of it. There are no doors, no openings, no ladders or ropes, and as far as she can see there are only solid grey bricks stretching into the thick fog. There has to be an end, or at least a curve, a place where the wall meets itself. It can’t go on forever, can it? She puts two hands out in front of her and lets them rest on the cool bricks, applying pressure. Nothing happens; of course it doesn’t. The girl slumps down against it and lets her chin rest on her arms, feeling tears begin to course down her hot cheeks. How long has she been running, she wonders as she tries to relax the tense muscles in her aching legs. What was she running for in the first place? She sits there and continues to cry, too exhausted to try standing up again, to keep on running, pressing against that wall. If only she would look in front of her now. If only she would try the other direction, push out of the fog, reach the goal that she was first trying to attain. But she sits there weeping by the grey wall, eyes lowered, mind numb, and she does not get up again.