"Run.
Don't stop.
Don't turn back."
And so he ran.
The danger was small, now.
They were slow and clumsy creatures.
He ran as fast as he could.
There was no way they would catch up.
Their feet seemed to be heavy, caught by molasses.
They wouldn't catch up, but he'd always be running away.
Their slow and cumbersome persistence would always be creeping.
Creeping around the corners--how would he sleep?
In the open, he could be easily seen.
Closed up, he could be trapped.
Attempting survival, but for what?
Company of the dead?
Memories of love?
He lived.
Alone.
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