Lost Soul Down

TWO

I'm running.

I've been running for a long time, but I can't bring myself to stop. Not now. I have to get further further further.

I lost the noises of the police cars and walkie-takie's and the sirens awhile ago, but I still feel like I need to get further away— like I can't get far enough.

I can't let them find me; I can't let them take me. They want to run experiments and do tests and turn me into some lab rat. It scares me so badly because I hardly know anything about my speed, and I'm not ready to be poked and prodded and questioned.

I still need time to unravel myself. I'm still
lost and I'm honestly scared to have all my questions answered.

What if it's bad? What if it's something I don't to hear? I don't want to know why I'm so fast, why I'm not normal.

I try to run from it. I try to pretend I'm
normal. I try not to use my speed at all because I can't bring attention to myself. I don't want people thinking I'm different— even if I am.

In delusional moments it's like I think if I stop using my speed, it will go away.

But it's been too long to hope for that.

It's been a painful journey.

I remember the first appearance the agents had. They were peaceful, and they sat down at our dinner table to talk.

"Amelia's special," they said. "We want to figure out the true extent of her power," they said. "If you turn her over willingly, we'll pay you whatever price you name."

My parents denied the offer, and the agents told them to think on it. They were so sure that my mother and father would take the money and send their only daughter away forever.

And when the agents came back the second time, they weren't so nice.

So we ran.

My parents always supported me and they wanted me to live the average life that I longed for. The agents wanted to use me.

Whatever future the agents have for me, I don't want it. I want to live a normal life. But they've already taken that from me.

And now they've taken my parents.

My parents, who I'll probably never see again. They could be dead or alive. I have no idea how far the agents are willing to go to get their hands on me.

Either way, I won't be seeing them for a very long time— if ever again.

The very thought makes it hard to breathe.

No time no time no time to grieve. I have to keep running, keep pushing forward—

The ground is muddy. Muddy and gross and hard and painful. I've fallen into it, skidded a foot in the dirt.

My lungs are on fire; I can barley feel my legs. They're buzzing, a strange sensation that isn't bad or good. It's like my electricity has run out, and my legs need to recharge.

I'm gasping for air.

The hardest part about running that fast is how much energy it takes up. I rarely run at my full speed, but when I do, the consequences are painful. I'm out of practice with my speed and my lungs suffer because of it.

If I had put in the work and time to master my speed and put myself into shape, maybe this wouldn't happen. But I don't want to use my speed anymore than necessary.

I want to be normal.

I can't move. My body has collapsed with exhaustion. I ran too far and too fast.

I've used up every ounce of energy and every lick of strength in me.

I lay on my back on the muddy ground and stare up at the night sky that is splashed with shinning stars.

I have to go I have to go I have to keep moving keep moving keep moving.

After I mostly catch my breath, I sit up.

My tank top and pajama bottoms are doing little to protect me from the cold.

It's fall, a cold time of year in Minnesota.

I must still be near Minnesota— which is disappointing.

I wanted to get further. I wanted to get out of the state and across the country.

But I know that's no realistic, given how out of shape I am.

I pry myself off the ground and to my feet, but I have to lean against a tree to stay standing. My legs are shaking so bad and I can feel them throbbing. They can't handle the inhuman speed that I just ran.

I can't run anymore.