Caught up. Caught up in all the worries. Trapped. Trapped I the jail of life. Itching. Itching for a break.

Tempted. Tempted by the rising sun. Urged. Urged by its light tapping my skin. Teased. Teased bu its playfulness. Convinced. Convinced my its persuasiveness, “lace those new, eager shoes; stretch your tired, tight muscles; don’t forget the short shorts.

As I am too excited to wait I gallop down the stairs to avoid the elevator as its remedies would not match my intents, I do so in a seemingly perfected rhythmic matter as if mastering the art of stair running, I already lose my mind in the movement until the last step. Then I slowly make my way to the door, the escape route, the threshold between stress and paradise, as I strain to push open the penatentuary-looking door, I leave the depressed building and enter a blinding world of light and beauty not noticed until my deprived eyes adjust to the change. I stop and smile.

As I soak in the taste of freedom and peace, I let my heart take control, giving my mind a rest, only asking to power the basic functions, i allow my heart to make the decisions. I notice I am heading west, towards home; images and memories enter my mind, then visions as if I am running through the countryside of my hometown I am straying from reality, entering a place of tranquility, only seeing what I need, guiding my way through the trees, grass concrete, and asphault. As the physical strains of reality begin to show their effects I work through the lazy, unused muscles, and slightly struggle for breathes from my air-filtered filled lungs, I exchange it for the fresh riverside air.

Overcoming my physical obstacles, I know not how far I have ran or will run, but the beads of sweat mark my distance in durability of my body. Having pushed through the beginning stage of tightness I re-enter my majestic abstracted reality, idealizing all scenery, sometimes removing buildings, replacing with run-down barns, vine-covered sills, and fields of beautiful horses or never ending corn or hay, I enjoy each and every step, mentally snap shot every angle of sight, creating a collage of memory to mark my path for further return and preservation of time for myself, though this area has seen many camera flashes rather for proms, homecomings, lunch breaks, or morning runs, as it is a chicken on a dairy farm, being it the only escape from the closterphobic city.

I begin to re-enter the real world once again smiling for every pair of long, tan legs scarcely covered by spandex, and the usually accompanying four, hairy legs, bound by a leash. Flexing for each vehicle as to impress, and show off, for they are trapped in a fiberglass box and I am free, I put myself in every situation pretending I am in every car, running with every family, and swimming with every duck.

The road moves like a slithering snake, me running like it’s chasing. The gusts of wind adjust my path and blow the tress like instruments in an orchestra, each leaf ruffling in the wind, and the crackling of every bending branch combing in beautiful song.

The sun paints a marvelous picture each step along the way, with the happy clouds in the sky dictating each stroke of light. It tans my shirtless body as the sweat flows through the contours of my curves, tickling my muscles, I feel the unwanted trash being flushed from my body, justifying a later sweet meal.

I come to the end of my designated path, pondering my next action, I continue out of curiosity ending up under a highway bridge heading for the river, with this as my newly anticipated destination. The roar of every passing car above my head, seemed to me packs of birds, with the occasional one left behind screaming at the pack ahead.

I stumble upon a lonely old dock, left to itself by a new dock further back, adjacent to the path. Already covered in sweat I justified my future actions as I stumble to take off my shoes and socks along the neck of the dock bursting into full speed  by the time I reach the mouth, leaping into the dirty river, but to me this was one of those slow motion idealized country side lakes or rivers you see in black and white commercials advertising things that remind “old” people of the good ole days. Soon awakened by the springtime water temperatures not quite ready for summer enjoyment. I retract from the water and rest on the worn out dock, watching my step and avoiding places of possible splenters, I rest my legs and bath in the sun, cleansing my body of the dirty water.

Alone, like the dock, I spark a conversation with him, the sky, the clouds, the sun, and surrounding vegetation, as if in a children’s cartoon; I sooth myself with their company. I begin to picture a reality for me, creating an ideal life, scampering into the future filling it with hope of one day being truly happy with all I could ever dream for, my family and my runs, this time accompanied by playful and adoring love. They bring comfort to me, the inanimate objects I seek conversation from.

As the sun kisses the water more and more I know I must leave, as if not to bother them. I feel like I have been here for a century, not only because of my aching joints, mad at me for leaving, but through the wormhole I ventured I felt as if the real world was in a different time than me for I had escaped its ticking clock.

My journey back the route I ventured is different, a more realistical sight-seeing trip, I begin to think of the things I wish not do, back to reality, hit by gravity, I slow down, not only aching from the prior run and long rest, my muscles must wake back up too, but from the dreaded reality I must re-enter for this world gives you a schedule, one must keep this schedule to succeed, one must adhear to the ticking clock to exist, and obey its tasks to live. As I renter my depressing cell, remove my shoes, wash my face, I lay in the floor, exhausted, not for the time past, but for the time to come.