Crossbeam of Ice

Running

The Greatest - Sia ^^^

"He never realised how exhausting being so afraid could actually be until now, when he'd just stopped running..."

Running
Eden's legs are flying, kicking out desperately beneath him, his muscles propelling him forward like those thin metal springs concealed beneath the cushioning of a mattress. His feet pulse against the ground, churning up layers of damp earth, his frictionless shoes slipping in the mud and across the dead leaves that obscure the forest floor. His chest aches. His lungs burn. His throat seethes. Breath rushes in and out of him like the violent tides of an ocean. His heart pummels savagely against his ribcage like a tiny bird fluttering frantically in its chains, struggling earnestly to escape. Sweat floods out from his every pore and lathers his skin like a river over stones, despite no heat being present in the night's frost-kissed breeze.

The air tastes of pending rainfall, yet Eden doesn't dare fault in his steps, those harsh, heavy footfalls still reverberating throughout his skull, pounding against his brain and he is no longer sure if they still rattle on behind him or if its just all in his mind. His legs ripple with exhaustion. His body throbs with pain. His skin is a bloom with rich violet bruises that sting like scorch-marks in the gale thrusting against his sides, his arms bare with his sweater long-since snagged away by the clawing tree branches that surround him.

Thorns tear at him, shredding at his blood-cloyed sweatpants, scrapping against his already-wounded flesh, causing scarlet to bead and dribble over his skin. With his jaw clenched and teeth gnashing together against the exertion that riles his entire frame, he runs on, further and further, until he is certain that his legs might just dismember themselves from the rest of his body. His head spins. His mind reels. His vision correlates in a spiral, turning the dark woods into a mess of murky hues and formless shapes.

And like that, with his balance teetering hazardously, he falls, colliding jarringly with the earth, mud splattering over his already soiled clothes, the impact sending a wave of pain flooding through his already battered body. A yelp rents from his lips, ringing like a shrill wolf's cry through the trees, unmistakeable, impossible to ignore. Eden attempts to stifle it with a grime-covered hand, but its pointless. The sound is out. Still echoing through the forest. And his pursuers will find him and arrest him. All because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut!

And that's when his tears fall. Gushing, clogging tears that bubble out from underneath his eyelids and pool over his cheeks like streaming rivulets. Fear crawls at the back his mind, hovering over his senses like a plague. But it's nothing against the guilt that froths and curdles in his gut like bile, feeling as though a dagger is being stabbed and twisted repeatedly in his heart.

The anger had been building for so long that when it broke through the barriers of his control, there was no reining it back in. The rage had been monstrous, violent, driven blindly by hysteria and the constant, unrequited terror that had gnawed at his system since as long as he could remember. The days of beatings. The months of neglect. The years of darkness had finally shoved him over the edge and when his father had dared put even a toe in his room that night to advance in his 'little game' as he liked to call it, Eden had made sure to arm himself.

It had been so easy, so unbearably easy that the very memory of it is crippling, suffocating Eden where he lay. The blade had been so clean, so neat, so precise that when its metallic point jabbed straight through his father's chest, death had been instantaneous. The blood splayed out across the frayed carpet so quickly that rivers of red formed along its surface, streaming out in thick, clotted tendrils over Eden's arms, saturating his sweater in crimson. And that's when Eden panicked.