Surrender.
She was running, out of time, out of patience, away.
Reallyā¦ thatās such a cliche way to start a story, you really gonna start it like that?
Butā¦. ughā¦ fine.
From both life and herself, she runs, her feet hitting the ground, her mind spinning. No matter what she does, she cannot escape. She cannot escape her thoughts, or her fears, or those who pursue her.
Third person? So normieā¦ cmonā¦ immerse the reader,
Iā¦.butā¦. Really?
Cmon now.
Fine. Watch this.
You run, fleeing from your fears, your own very mind. Your bare feet hit hard against the pavement, your breath carrying through the air of the deserted street. Terrified, your skin is pale, your blood is pounding through your veins in time to your steps. Your fears and thoughts are not all that chases you, for they are coming, following your every move. Youāve so far managed to stay one step ahead, so far managed to keep out of their reach, but theyāre gaining on you.
Really? Cliches again? A nefarious, mysterious pursuer?
Yes. Trust me, I have a plan.
Oh? Really?
Yes. Shut up and let me write!
You continue to run, even if, in your heart of hearts, you know you will never truly escape, you will only postpone your eventual suffering, your eventual capture and demise. They will always pursue you, and even once theyāve caught you, someone else will come. You are hunted. You will only even be the hunter of your freedom, of your safety. Such things will never come to you, you must hunt them forever and always, and they will forever be out of your reach, forever unattainable. Unlike they to you, you will never catch what you hunt. People like you are sought after, chased down, and thereās nothing you can do to save yourself, to make yourself less desirable, for your efforts will only increase their want for you.
You hear a set of steps behind you, for your rhythm changed, and they were no longer able to match it. You know you canāt turn. You know you must simply continue to run. You must fight your own intuition, you must continue to run, while every fiber of your being screams for you to stop, to look around, to fight. You know, however, that you canāt fight your pursuer. Not yet. Youāre not ready. You just need more timeā¦. just a little more timeā¦
It was too late for you. Too late. You had finally run out of time, your own worst fears had come true, your pursuers had caught you. It was over. The fight, the chase, the struggle. It was all over. You can rest now, you can simply surrender to them. You know you want toā¦. let them take overā¦ if you surrender, theyāll take care of youā¦ donāt fightā¦
You wake up in a cloud, well at least it feels like that. The softest mattress, the silkiest sheets, the fluffiest pillow. Youād never felt so comfortable, soā¦. safe. You know not where you are, just that you are safe, and that now you never need fear again. You never even need think again, for theyāll take care of that too. Itās over. Thereās no need to think, to fear, to even move. You can just lay here foreverā¦
Isā¦. areā¦ they ā¦. What I think they are?
Perhaps.
Oh cmon, just tell me already.
I was about to, until someone interrupted me.
Iāll shush!! Continue on!!!
The cloud-like bed and room threaten to lull you back into sleep, with the promise of dreamless slumber. The room grows whiter and whiter, until it overtakes your very thoughts, a calm whiteness engulfing both body and mind, pure nothingness. Eventually, the very ability to even think leaves your mind, and the last breath leaves your body not long afterwards. It was truly over now.
Goodnight, my dear.
