My mouth is dry. My sandpaper tongue glides my cheek for a bead of sweat to hydrate me. It is a salty mistake.
Sun burns me in spotlight. Shadows dissipate as I reach them. Bile yoyos my throat. Collapsing is a greater need.
I force my legs on. I stumble. I splutter. I rain sweat.
Stopping here means death. Going back means death. Pushing on means…
Beyond is possibilities or nothing. Risk is greater than being in the masses. I must do.
I reject the shadows. I need more. The pull back no longer has me.
I run to the untold future.