"Explain nothing. Put it there. Say it. Leave." ~ Elias Canetti
Running, running, running, the long, closeted room in the hotel no her house, doors on doors on doors to be locked and locked and locked to keep them all out, I frantically look for escape, ah Jesus hurry they're coming, pause reckless to breathe the scent of her from this crumpled pile of bedding, that bit of clothing, peruse hidden pages looking for mention of me, touch things she touches -- suddenly away with my crew, running with the terror of civilized horrorshow monsters on our heels, raging firehose of adrenaline bursting from my chest, pouring coppery through my nose -- caught then cornered then into the water as ad men and pretty girls in 50s summer dresses smile and promise and cajole me back from the edge, and I step off the high board with a wan smile at the faceless mass catcalling from the sides of the pool, and whisper "Fuck you all" as I knife into the depths, clear and bright as fine blue crystal, the surface miles away and we race for home, flying in the perfect silence, a mute school of strange creatures flashing silver, while warriors who would not join disintegrate without hope or pity into the gray crowd of cardboard people watching from the stage we'd left.
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