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My thighs rub against each other. My knees bend and stretch in a rhythmic fashion. My arms move forwards and backwards. I'm not tired. I'm running through the big white room. I forgot why I'm running. Am I running from something or towards something? I can't remember anything besides running.
My feet hit the ground and leave the ground, as they always have done. My mind is clear and I run. I'm not tired. What is being tired even. I think about the concept of tired and I find out that I don't even know what being tired is supposed to feel like. My head is filled with strange concepts that I abstractly know what they mean, but I can't picture anymore what it really should mean.

I'm empty inside, my thoughts drifting here and there as my feet hit the ground over and over again. They don't hurt, even though I have been running for as long as I can remember. Something in the back of my mind says my feet should be bleeding right now, my thighs smarting with ache, my lungs burning for oxygen and sweat gushing off my body. But nothing of all that ails me. Why do I believe I should feel that way I don't know, but it doesn't worry me. This is how it is right now. I run through the white void, one step at a time.

With every step I took I tried to add a little bit more speed in it. And every other step I managed to add an extra bit of speed to it. Something inside me said that shouldn't be possible. The speed at which my legs were moving should have broken my bones. But even though that should be, they still held together. I run, my legs a blur under me. I feel the skin scraping together getting hot and cooling down immediately as the disconnect, almost too fast to sense. I should be burning up, but somehow my body restores itself before that can happen. The sound of them rasping against each other is deafening, and growing louder with each step, but I don't grow deaf, even though the pressure on my ears is intense.

If anyone were to look at me running here they would see a torso surrounded by blurry limbs moving fast and hearing the sound of a train scraping over rails I imagined. Something surreal, but what even is surreal in this eternal white place. I'm running in a huge white room and I haven't encountered a wall yet. For a moment I wonder what would happen to me if I would crash into a wall with this speed. But then the thought leaves me again, as have so many thoughts. All there is is the running, placing one foot in front of the other, faster and faster.

I feel the heat coming off my thighs radiating around me. A part of me knows it is caused by friction, it should be sloughing off pieces of skin, muscle, yet my body is in one piece, just extremely hot around my thighs where my legs rub against each other. It's a new sensation in this sensation less world, the heat radiating on my skin.
I enjoy the experience of something new, of something warming me, giving me something new to feel. I run faster and keep moving forward, going faster with every and each step, feeling the heat hit my skin hotter and hotter with each step. A smile appears on my face and a roar of sound like a jet fighter passing over me surrounds me.

My skin feels warm, but it doesn't burn. My legs are glowing with a red light, a welcome break in the monotone white surrounding me. As I go faster with each step the red light emitting from my legs grows brighter. The roar emanating from legs has grown incredibly loud, like a jet fighter in hot pursuit behind me. A part of me is worried I'll burn up, but a larger part of me really doesn't care. What is there to loose or keep living for. I'd rather push the boundaries that I can push as long as I can push them. And I am deadly curious to what else will happen when I move even faster. The red light burns on my skin and I see my skin turning red and black and returning to normal in a rapid tempo. I run, I burn, I roar, I smile, glowing with a dark red light. I run.

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About the author

Tschallacka

Bio: I'm a coder at heart, but I also like other creative activities. Here on royal road I try my hand at writing. I'm not the best at it, but that's a hobby for you. I hope you will like my writings.

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