This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
One foot fell ahead of the other in an entrancing beat. In an untamed split of a second, one toe gripped the warm asphalt and disappeared in the next, even as the other shot forward to keep him moving. Without making any sound, without wasting an erg of energy, in an absorbing cadence of a bewitching music playing in his head, in a beguiling dance of survival and death, he ran.
The eyes had no vision as he plunged into the sultry, forbidding darkness for his life. There was no sound except that of the thick, heavy air cutting across, passing him by in a whoosh mingled with the rhythm of his own exerted panting. There was no sign of life, except the thudding of his heart, accelerated in exhaustion and fear. He ran.
He could not see. he could not hear. But he knew. He could feel.
The footsteps behind him, chasing him, driven by the maddening compulsion to suck the life out of him, closing on him. No one would understand, no one would feel but he could see in his head the cruel purpose hidden behind those hypnotizing black eyes.
And life surged back into his weakening, tired legs anew propelling him forward, faster and faster. Fed on adrenaline, his muscles crackled as they took him away like a scared monster patrolling the nights, his sinews stretched to breaking with the force of gushing blood but nothing took root as he ran on, with the only thought in mind: Escape.
He had to run away. as far as he could, where he could never be found. Into another world. Into safety. If there was one.
His breath stopped and came. He gulped in the thick air in successive movements, as he fought for more, but he dared not stop. His visions collided, and converged. He could see every air particle blocking his progress, the darkness blocking the end of the endless night as he ran against fate, into nothingness.
Too scared to look behind, too afraid to pause for a moment, he ran on. In his flight to save the life throbbing within him, his arteries were stretched to the point of rupture, the blood spilled into his brain, casting a veil over his eyes, reddening his iris, the veins swollen and vivid on the sides of his forehead, and the carotid stark and bright against the pale of his throat. His heart, his life, was nearing to burst in its own quest to save itself.
Suddenly his eyes flew open, a sheen of madness still covering his eyes that couldn’t see the white of the ceiling, a ringing in his ears that couldn’t hear the creaking of the revolving fan. He was thrashing in his bed, gasping for air, entangled in the covers, sweat was running in rivulets down and across his torso, muddying his face, drops of blood leaked out of his nose, and some trickled down from the corner of his eyes. He was locked in his flight away from his unknown, faceless, non-existent nemesis… Still strapped to the iron rungs of the bed.
There was no escape. Ever.
N.B. It is not easy to delve into the mind of a schizophrenic. But it could be something like this. Writing this was very exhausting and compelling, as was trying to get into the character. This is my tribute to a certain important someone in my life who has been trapped in mind, too far long, too far gone to be completely brought back. Contrary to how this ended, there is always a hope, a cure for those who can detect and fight it early on. There is an Escape. Love, G.
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