Sometimes, the world makes no sense. Sometimes, all you can do is flee. Sometimes, running away is all about mind over matter.

Making the deal is easy. The man is everywhere, eager to help you sample his wares. All you have to do is look…hell, all you have to do is think of him and he’s there, an affable grin hanging off his lips like a smokeless cigarette as he squats before you, eyes at your level, and takes your hand in his in a firm, confident grip.

He has to squat, you see, because you are already sprawled on the pavement, half propped up against spit-glazed wall, neck crooked at an odd angle. You should be worried about a stiff neck tomorrow, only not really, because for you there’s no tomorrow. There’s just the moment, the present, the hereandnow. A blurry haze permeates your vision like a bad Instagram filter. The only thing in focus is the affable grin and the soothing voice as the grip changes from a handshake to something else entirely, as it crawls upwards to your forearm and pushes the ratty sleeve back to expose the slightly blue veins and the other hand produces a golden, glowing syringe.

Your skin and muscle accept the needle gratefully, hungrily. It slides in like a sword into its sheath of flesh, and a moment later, the syringe is emptied of its contents. The golden, shimmering liquid is now coursing through the veins and you can feel its glow as pours new life into you, and the world swims into focus, gains colour and mutates into a loving, wonderful, joyful place where you are wanted.

The man with the affable grin stands up – his smile unchanging, unwavering, unflinching. His entire face really, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem like a face at all, but rather a mask moulded from the clammy-but-not-rotting flesh of the freshly dead. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because the golden elxir coursing through you whispers that he’s your friend and he needs no payment – not right now anyway. That comes later, once the heart has pumped its final beat and the lungs have pushed out their final breath. Then, it’s time to leave this broken, pathetic shell behind and walk with him into the gaping maw of darkness and red sand. One final run. One final Escape. One final, defiant statement to prove that sometimes, running away is all about mind over matter.


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