Tuesday 10 April 2012

Tightening in response as ghost rats run across my chest. Phoof, phoof, phoof they go, lighter than cats, heavier than mice. Yes, much heavier than mice. Ghost mice don't initiate tremorous hands and arms. Ghost rats do. Liquid legs, shoulders taught and the old familiar pain burning at the base of my neck as clavicles rear up to produce with depressing accuracy the hunched child waiting for the expected, unexpected blow. A plus and a minus always equal a minus, it's the rules. Suspense, wondering where, how it will fall this time. Tighter than the cooper's hoop, pectoralis minor gets to work as ligaments test their limits, resisting the historical bungee.

Keep running, keep running, keep running, keep running. One day there'll be enough distance, one day I'll outrun it. One day there'll be no judgement.


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