Run.

That was what they told her to do. She had listened, at first, her feet barely touching the ground as she sprinted, as if in a race. After an hour, or so it felt, she had slowed, and allowed herself to go a gentle walk, not stopping, but not going nearly as fast as before.

She remembered when she was running- a fear had possessed her, a fear that they had instilled upon her. Her imagination had raced, like her legs- she was constantly wondering, or rather dreading, what was following her. As she slowed, the fear began to slip away. What did it matter? It was not as if she would die. This was surely a dream, as she began to crawl deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.

She stopped. There was a rock near her, beckoning, and so she sat upon it. She relaxed the muscles in her back, sinking into the rock, which became a wooden chair, which became a couch, which became a cushion, which then became  blob of some substance which drew her in, and so, she fell asleep.

As she slept, they faced her again- ghostly figures, in white robes and white masks covering the lower half of their faces, as if covering some horrible disfiguration. She shrank back in fear, as one of them pleaded with her;

“Wake up! You only have so much time left! You need to keep running!”

She wanted to reply, “But why? Why must I keep running?”, but she did not. Her body was too relaxed, and she drifted back into her reality.

She felt tempted to stand, and she felt the urge to begin to run, but it was already too late. The dark figure of death stood over her, magestic and proud, like some cloaked black peacock. She screamed, and her  body shook, her heart racing.

It was over.

The dream had ended, as had her life.

In the hospital, the family saw their daughter’s eyes open wide. Hope filled their hearts, until they heard a long, drawn-out beep. They realized what it meant only after they, the doctors, had draped a sheet over her head, shaking their own, and whispering, “Sorry”.

Always run, when they tell you to.

***

This was inspired by a traumatic event I once endured. A friend went into a coma, and would not come out for three weeks. When she did, I asked her what had happened, and why she had come back. She responded, “Always run when they tell you to.”