I'm speeding down the highway, way over the limit. I'm not driving a car, however. I'm being carried by nothing but my own two feet. Wind resistance, terrain, human limits, all that and the law are simple suggestions. They've all been completely foreign concepts to me for the last 4 years.

Let's get you up to speed: 350 mph is how fast the engine where my heart should be allows me to run away from the crime I just committed. There, now you're caught up.

The FEELING of it is exhilarating. You have to understand, the wind whipping my hair around, the ease with which I take each step, the sound of cars and helicopters trying to catch me. There's neither car fast enough nor plane slow enough that can go where I go. There's nothing that comes close to the rush I get.

That's the problem though. I can't sit still, I can't stop. I have to keep running. I mean, can can stop to rest, I need to, but then everything. Feels. Fucking. So. Slow. My heart's bpm is well above average and I've never been good at sitting still even before, the world around me practically stands still all the time.

I don't belong in that world, I belong here, running in time with the beat of my engine, all for the thrill of it. Running through the downtown area, everything's a blur, just vague smears of shapes of people on sidewalks, lampposts, benches, and buildings. I only really see what's right in front of me, it's all I can focus on, it's all that matters when I'm running. There are tons of cars, but I can squeeze between them really easy, but I love running on the tops of them. You'd think quadriceps that can quake the earth would demolish a car, but I'm practically gliding over everything I run on, constantly pushing forward into my momentum almost never putting any weight on the ground.

It would almost be like I don't exist outside of my own little world, but if anyone were to be close, the roar of my engine would deafen them and the wind that trails behind me would knock them over. I'm an extremely disruptive presence that the cops, as well as anyone within earshot of me, don't tend to appreciate. That's why I'm running freely right now, since they're after me already. They'll never catch me, they never do.

This time, though, I trip. I noticed losing my footing immediately. For what felt like an eternity, I was airborne. I took that time to secure my head and neck. I hit a car, glance off of it, skip across the asphalt like a soft rock on a rough lake, crash through the window of a small clothing store, take out several racks of clothing, leaving nothing but glass, clothes, and my own blood in my wake. I feel hot, but not like I'm used to with my engine pumping blood so hot it turns water into steam, no. I'm embarrassed.

I don't want to stand up. I don't want to have anyone's eyes on me. I know I can't get out of here fast enough to avoid their looks, speed takes time to build up. My engine normally beats steady and confidently, but now it feels like it's going to break under this new, panicked, irregular pressure. I'd felt embarrassed and anxious in my life before the engine but never like this. The engine makes me feel things more strongly and emotions like this are the worst of all.

For the first time in my life I want to pry this wretched machine out of my chest and whack it with something heavy until it stops. My limbs which once felt like powerful forces of nature are starting to tingle. They're numb. I can't move them even if I wanted to. I can't tell how long it's been but I know I've been still for too long. Now I really can't run until I get my engine back on beat.

People are staring now, I can tell. I refuse to look up, but I can tell.

They're looking at me. They can see how much I'm breathing.

I should breath slower.

I'm hyperventilating.

I look crazy.

They can tell I'm losing it. 

I hate this.

This isn't thrilling.

I hate this.

I'm scared.

I hate this.

There's something on my back?

"Hey."

I flinch and scatter more clothes.

IT was a hand. A hand touched me.

"Oh, sorry. You just looked... are you okay?"

I'm not. I'm scared of you.

"It's okay"

It's not.

"No one's going to hurt you."

They are.

"Look, see?" They put their hands up, "I'm friendly."

Maybe this person is safe. They don't seem like a cop.

"What's your name."

I open my mouth. I stutter a bit. No words come out. My mouth is dry. I can't talk.

"It's okay, you don't have to say."

Thank you...

"Do you need anything?"

I need to move.

I try to stand, but I collapse.

"Woah, okay, okay. I'll help you stand."

Please don't touch me.

"Here."

Stop.

"See? We're standing. Now what."

Get out of here, please.

"POLICE, HANDS UP!"

It's too late...

"DROP THE CRIMINAL!"

Shit...

"Wait, they're just scared!"

Why the hell are you defending me!

"THEY'RE WORKING TOGETHER!"

"You don't understand!"

You idiot! Stop!

"HANDS UP, FINAL WARNING!

"But they can't stand-! Huh?"

I'm telling you to stop, please...

"I see what you're saying. I don't know who you are, but I can't just leave you like this. You need help."

You're a dumbass.

"Just tell me what you need."

"FIRE ON MY MARK!"

Ugh.

Fuck it.

I weakly point to my chest and make a gesture with my fist.

"Oh that's all?"

"READY!"

They slam their fist into my engine with just enough force to get it back to roaring it's usual beautiful song.

No.

I actually like this one more.

"FIR-"

I don't let them get the word out. I don't let them fire. In that time, all it takes is for me to run right past them to knock them all out cold on the ground. My body feels lighter than ever. My chest has a much smoother rumble than before. I don't know how, but that was just the kickstart I needed.

Back in my own world leaving that one far behind. The shapes of people around me are back to being vague smears. I still need the thrill to live. But I took at least one thing from that world and into mine. Someone to share it with. Someone with their own world that I'd like to be part of.