the escape

To breathe.

To run.

To breathe. And breathe. And keep breathing—in and out, in and out, letting the adrenaline shake every fiber of your being. To land every step in front of you without fail, and hope your pounding heart does not burst out of your chest, leaving you a bloody, helpless mess.

To keep looking forward, keeping your eyes wide open and your mind on high alert. To notice anything moving towards you and nimbly avoid collisions and stops. To adapt as the situation demands, knowing you are losing any remaining reservations by the second. To never look back, not unless it’s to check for unwanted followers.

To hold onto the hand of your dearest person, and subconsciously prepare yourself for the moment when all you have left will be the mere sensation of their hand. To tighten your grip at the very thought of loss, and pray you will not be plagued by another tragedy you cannot bear.

To leap, and duck, and climb, and sprint, and clench your jaw, and forget what you left behind.

That is what it means to escape.