Little Creek

You can’t run forever. Sure, you can try. The path that follows the little creek through the woods will keep you ahead, but it’s no escape. It’s a dead end. We both know it. Your fate is inevitable.

But still you run.

The water is flowing faster now, as fast as my breath, as fast as your heartbeat. Your footprints still linger in the mud, your fear floats in the air and fills my nostrils. The end is near. I can hear the crash of the water falling onto the rocks below. You do not slow your pace.

Stubborn. I am the consequence of all your sins, the sum of every decision you’ve made. You cannot escape, no more than the water of the creek can change its path. You flounder, you thrash, you rage against the universe, your hair tangled in a branch, your hands flailing in defiance. And then you are at the edge, and then you are jumping, flying, falling. Unable even at the end to accept what you have done.

No matter. Your escape is an illusion. When you reach the rocks below, you will find I am already there.

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