Pursued. In the flashing wake of Memory’s Blade. Found among the ruins of reflection and regret, passed the hall of hidden meaning. Quenched, neck deep in the troubles of self production, remiss with no one to blame it upon. There is no destitution with a spurious cast of players available to recall. Losses are victories when played back to tabulate in review a life lived for experience, for mettle for arrival.

Pushing past exophora to lean upon the kinetic or siphon epinephrine from synthetic reason. Somehow continued, inexorable, perpetually plodding foot by foot as leather heels fight asphalt in Friction’s Score. The music of madness running from the light of night seeking shadow in the narrows of dominion over fever. Frightened by the love left in some forgotten closet revealing the truth about a heart beyond defeating. That caustic burn of belly and lung stung by the bug to keep going the miles are conquered leaving only a laundry list of things needing recovery.

What to or from shall an escape be exacted when fleeing toward a moment forgotten? Cards in pockets thrown upon a bureau reflecting names of people passed beyond the causeways of causality. Even those thoughts stacked neatly for retrieval have somehow been blown by the torrent having wrecked Tempest upon the Memory’s Coffer. Perhaps with a drink I will recall how to think and quickly make link to the annals. I pause to stop sputtering only long enough to fight the urge to run again.

And in the breath, I see Him, Pacing me now always to my left and if I’m not mistaken He’s Chuckling. To the limits and beyond into realms of energies unknown I fight for mastery of muscle and thought but they are not buying that I am worthy of command or faculty. Headlong into madness I hurl my mass finding acceleration and energy have halted.

The result is absurd said the wings of the bird as it took off to lands without thinking. Blinking commands and hostage demands said the terror within me I’m uncertain. The sense returning I fought to make reason from mystery and place sounds with words in hope of understanding my scripting. Sense had left the building and I was left with a hodge podge of seemingly unrelated nightmares.

But the picture taught of the hope found in courage as each fright abandoned I found comfort in never being alone though professionally tracked. Never dawning on me to fight for protection or resist the tail I simply ran on past reason and time. Then the hand upon my shoulder brought me back from separation with the material plane and suddenly I was myself looking down at the fat wallet he placed in my waiting hand. “The Truck Hit Me”, I said.

Straightening coat with the neighs of a goat I stumble from plaza to portcullis. My hard leather shoes water logged and dullen I planted betwixt his legs dropping him in agony thankful I didn’t miss. Tossing his convulsing person aside prepared to compete with the latch and the cleat suddenly the door is thrust open wide revealing what appeared as escape route. Flouting my good fortune my flight hurried at best clumsily devoured the hallways and stairwells in darkness hoping to make egress in some quiet alley.

No time for reflection as what appeared to be coming from every direction, the ravenous screams and sirens of Pete and Sally. The whole world had come alive to find little old me, breeder of naught that is worthy, spoiler of royal planning, head mage to the failed lambs cottage of magic. Unkempt by any means of etiquette and decorum I emerged a turgid site into the night that whispered to run til my lungs pop. Finding my way the left’s and right’s of fear’s path guiding me to the strangest location where I briefly may stop. Atop the wall and into the brush I flew with a rush still the night observing my flight I found my way into a graveyard. Staring into the dark nothing moved not whisper of gust no grasses, leaves or disturbed dust, the night was dead except for the rhythmic Malevolence of my own wicked little heart.