But oh! That deep romantic chasm. - Coleridge
He was running, but he didn’t know where to. The corridor
curved away in the distance, blank doors with no handles, a
dim light but no source that he could see. It must lead
somewhere, no one would build a corridor this long for no
reason.
He didn’t know why he was running. The assumption was he
was trying to reach somewhere as quickly as possible.
Maybe he should take more time, remember what it was he
needed to do before he got there. He slowed to a brisk walk
and tried to think back.
He looked round, as if seeing where he’d come from might
jog his memory. The corridor seemed to stretch back for
miles, and from the distant bend he could make out the
sound of someone, other people, voices, and something
came back to him. He wasn’t running towards somewhere;
he was running away.
With his heart in his mouth and his legs just strings of pain he
set off again, safety his only thought. He had no idea what
he’d done but they were chasing him down. He’d no idea
where he’d come from except that he didn’t want to go back.
The doors seemed to be getting further and further apart, or
else he was slowing down. It felt like his legs would disagree
with that. He couldn’t even remember the last thing he could
remember. He thought he must be… trying to reach
somewhere. He thought he heard someone behind him,
maybe he should stop and check if they could help him.
Something didn’t seem quite right. He slowed slightly, his
heart torn between exertion and panic. He realised he
needed extra energy, but instead he glanced back.
He felt the dart hit his lung as it whacked him to the ground.
The last thing he saw was three men, dressed in black,
military-types, standing over him. The last thing he thought
was, he couldn’t remember his name.