I saw my chance and I took it. No, not took, grabbed. I grabbed it and tore it from it’s seams, a chance I took out of desperation, a chance a took for freedom. Because what freedom what are we? Sheep waiting for the slaughter.
And now I’m running, hurling, tossing myself forward with every ounce of energy I can produce within these last few dreadful minutes. My hands tremble -- half from nervous reflex, half from the fear only masked by adrenaline, which urges me to run forward, because I have no where else to go. Anywhere is better than there, anything is better than that, anyone is better than them. There was a time when I had given up, but the thoughts we think when we are at rock bottom are always the strongest, like a float, and if we grab it, it can guide us to the surface.
All I see is mist, heavy and impermeable, a vast grey cloud that is consuming me, and I have to hear myself breathe to know I’m still here and that’s just fog, just a feature of this unbearable humid gas they call air. My bear feet squish the mossy rocks, grassy glue sinks in between my toes and wraps itself around my ankle, but I rely on my feet for navigation, the only thing telling me where I’m going and where I am -- land, water, or grass. My breathing is labored, thoat dry, and footprints heavy. I am a mouse in a play maze, and I don’t want to play this game anymore.
   
No matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I know the chance of escaping is slim to zero. Freedom is nasty tease, a call in the distance I am so close to, and I will not give up now, if I outrun them. But they are bigger than me, taller than me, stronger than me, and they’re on my tail. I’ve passed all opportunity to fight them off, now I’m weak, and it feels like my skin is just plastic wrap, holding brittle bones from spilling out and splitting in two. Flashlights burn cloud surface and muffled chatter in the distance send sweaty chills down my spine. Soggy feet hit a wooden surface, which I accept as a log, and I tiptoe through mud and residue, while a sour scent shoots through me and I hold back a cough. Slop. I land in a frigid puddle, and the water splatters over my ankles and calves and the metal chain branded to my right ankle. With every step, metal punctures skin, and I bite down on my lips to contain a bursting scream. Every breath solidifies my lungs, with thickening coughs that suffocate me, but I am overcome by smells of moss and fern and earth, so pure and real, and I have missed that for far, far too long.

Maybe there’s a certain part of me that clings onto right now -- the only time in months I’ve had the freedom to see the light so far and untouchable in the distance. It’s now that I realize I have endured and escaped and conquered so much in my short and sorrowful life, and being caught now would only tear a scab I’m trying to create. I will not go back there, I will not be their prisoner, I will not. And so I dissipate into the fog, dragging along that stubborn chain, which has cut more than flesh all these years in captivity. It has nailed me into the ground, but now it guides me, I no longer feel the burn.

         __________

Bumpth. That’s all it takes. A sound in the distance, a click of reload. That’s all it needs, and I’m down. But I fall slowly, it’s a silent twist of my feet, and the force of my feet stop short, so I jerk back, and my neck churns, and I am weightless...until I hit. It’s a thump I do not hear, all metal gears within my brain are beginning to turn, each one signifies the next, until they work in unison, and I register what has become. And I hear million thumps, all consecutive echoes, ringing within my head like a bag of marbles. Everything stops. And the trees are an olive blur, mud flies up into the air and I watch as it’s components twist and dance in spherical motion then land on my forehead, the cool substance sits there and I can see it from inner corners of vision.
Subconsciously, my fingers scan the surface of my dress, the thin peach material, now a jaded beige from stains and tears, and I find it. I swallow bricks as the liquid spills out onto my fingers, white and chilled meets red and hot, lava defrosting the crevices of pale fingernails and salty flesh stings the gaping bullet hole. For a while I lay there, my ear pressed roughly against the dirt, and listen to them in the distance, but it’s hard to hear over earth’s screams. The sky, true and powder grey, sends a breeze around my neck and across my collarbone. And my vision swaps between reality and a dream, back and forth it blurs and tests my conscience -- as lay there, completely still, completely frozen, though I have never felt so aware.
But I can hear them tredging up the hill and through the cloud, nearer now, nearer every second of the imaginary clock. I lay and wait -- just like that, for moments, all prolonged and dear and all mine, the only time I have ever really kept for myself. I’ve never prayed before but I feel as though I owe it to myself to prey to something, to dedicate my last few moments of dialogue to anyone willing to listen, if there is anyone out there, if anyone can hear me. I won’t forgive them, I won’t. I have given all I had to offer, and I need to keep something for me. But does that mean I should be forgiven, too? I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know.
When they reach me my eyes burn, I can feel my eyes gloss up as the sky disintegrates, and I don’t want it to go away, not just yet, the change of scenery is so comforting to me, after wasting so much of my life under metal bars. I feel them tie up my ankles, reattach that nasty chain, yank me forward across the mud. I feel a muffled, stolen cry take over me. They can’t take me back, they can’t. But I know they can, and I can’t bear the thought. Suddenly I am a child, lonely and frustrated, barely able to hear my thoughts over the wails of an uncontrollable cry. With every thump of their feet I swallow my tears, and my heart stings, and I --
And then something happens. All this pain begins to numb away, and soon I can’t feel my wound, or broken ankle, or infinite scars. Suddenly I am invincible, drifting away in endless sleep. And I can feel my peripheral vision switch to black, quiet and humble, I’m slipping away and I’m completely aware of doing so. The last thing I feel is dewy grass and rich mud, healing my body, preparing my soul. So that’s when I smile. A quickening grin overcomes my face, and tears dry away from the force of my joy. It’s a dominant, cunning, grin. The kind you make when you know something someone else does not, and that is the case for me. Because I will never make it back there, and they will never truly have me again. This is my end. It is an end of triumph and privilege. It is an end that is truly mine, because I have found the only way I can infinitely be free.
And I’m still me,  just me.