What if he ran?
The beach is only a few minutes away anyway, he could make a straight line into the sea and never know of the world he knows again.
He could run, sure his legs weren’t in the best of shapes, but if he could just book it to the pier this all could end.
He just had to get up.
His legs don’t answer, are they still swollen? They don’t throb any more, and the livid red around his knees has died down to its natural pale hue again.
His feet are responsive.
His breathing is even.
His hands twitch ever so slightly still, but it should be fine in the long run.
Run. Right. He should run.
His room’s not even locked, hasn’t been in forever. His windows aren’t sealed any more, and his head lacks its usual tingling sensation.
Even his eyes feel lighter.
Like before, like they were a few years ago, as if nothing happened to him at all.
Run, running and running, round and round.
He hasn’t even taken his shoes off, he walked all the way up to his room, and he hasn’t even taken his shoes off.
He could just bolt to the door right now, the place isn’t locked, he checked.
Why can’t he stand up?
He’s just looking at the door like an idiot, he’s not sure if he can feel his body due to how still he is, just as if he’s playing statue.
Like those kids in the park.
Lila used to explain the games he saw children play around the residential areas. She explained it was some sort of weird game in which you had to try to get to whoever was counting, moving only when that person was not looking your way at all.
No one’s looking at him now.
What was the game called?
Maybe he could go down to the kitchen, and pretend he was getting water.
Colours were involved.
What if he was stopped at the stairs?
Blue? Yellow? They contrasted, why can’t he remember?
Potentially, he could pretend he was going on a walk, but what if he was sent scouting again? It was early, though, just three in the afternoon.
Maria used to get out of school around this time, before.
Her uniform was a dark maroon colour. Close to red.
Red. Red? Red, like the lights, like the game.
No, that can’t be right.
Red light.
Nobody can move at a red light. Right.
Her uniform wasn’t red, it wasn’t even maroon, it was dark, but he remembers her walking with it every day.
If he ran now, he could catch the bus or even the metro, it’s been ages, but maybe the routes are the same.
Run. She was running. The light was shitty, it was night.
Her shirt was white, her skirt was green.
Used to be, before he—
His head is pounding, is it normal? Is it him?
No one’s home. His breathing echoes all over.
He could run. There’s an alleyway where he can toss away his mask, but he needs it though, it’s marked, but he needs it.
Do his shoes squeak? No, if they did, he wouldn’t have been allowed scouting.
What if he can’t hear it, though? He couldn’t hear the rain yesterday, he couldn’t hear nor see anything yesterday, he had been isolated.
He couldn’t see the green of his walls.
Green.
Maria, with her green uniform, waiting at a cross row for the light.
The green light.
That’s the name of the game.
Red light. Green light.
Red light.
Like the kids at the park, he’s frozen in place. Are the eyes that watch him there?
Run, run away, boy. Run.
Lila had whispered that to him when he was fourteen, the night before his birthday. She knew.
Lila disappeared one day. What if he can do the same?
Red light.
Green light.
He runs.
