I'm a runner. I always have been. The gun goes off and I take to speed like I've never felt the wind before. But I don't mean like, putting two hundred dollar reebocks on so I can go run miles in the track at my country club. I run away like you run away from the creepy girl who wants to show you her pet bacteria; running up to you with her little petri dish full of pathogenetic microorganisms that live in stale water. The water probably contains Amoebiasis, and you don't have to let her get too close to tell.
If I ever felt like I didn't need to run, it was probably because things have been the same...for a very long time. Comfort has started to sneak it's way into life. You can hear the peace of the water, calm, silent. You find dust on your shelves, you don't have to think about what key you are grabbing to get inside the house, you just know.
But then, "BBAMM". The gun goes of and you take what you have on your back and you don't have to know where you are going, you just go. Change seems to be the reason behind the guns going off. But you don't have any reason yourself, so what are you even saying. It's the botulism taking a run at you, so you run faster.
You run until you can't run anymore, until your ankles collapse, until your mouth is so dry you are trying to block out the burning in the back of your throat, until your glands run out of fluid to produce sweat. And you are finally safe, and alone. And your alone. No running, no changes, no girl chasing after you with her petri dish. You have won and out run them all. And you are alone