Sirens in the air, blood on the concrete, shadows in the alleys.
Run.
My hands are stained.
Run.
A knife clutched against my chest.
Run.
I can't let them find me, they won't understand.
Run.
They won't catch me. I won't take the blame for this.
Run.
I've escaped. The sounds have begun to dim. I'm not safe, the evidence is dripping down my neck and soaking into my shirt. If anyone sees me then they'll make assumptions. They'll assume but it won't be the truth. They won't understand.
Footsteps echo from somewhere behind me and I begin to run again.
