Randy raced through the darkness. Heart pounded and pistons kept pumping.
I want to live, he thought. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.
The thought looped in his mind, over and over.
He had no clue where he was. The road looked like so many roads he’d run by. Nothing to distinguish the area, no notable character that distinguishes it from all the other neighborhoods he’d passed by.
Still, he had a reason to run.
That surprised him. His reason for living was so surprising to him. It was so strange and unexpected, because it seemed to come from within.
If he’d wanted to live this whole time, why didn’t he feel that desire?
Why had it come to him so suddenly?
He ran and he ran and he ran, with no idea how many people had reported his location. He had no idea that the prison had installed a tracker on him, either.
He was running, but he couldn’t truly run away from his problems.
He had a will to live, but it didn’t come from within him, like he believed in that moment.
The running and the living couldn’t keep on like this.
It didn’t matter how far he ran; things weren’t going to get better.