After falling flat to his face, he did not stay down. He would not stay down. The voice was unmistakable. He knew where he had to go and he knew he must run.

The door tried to stop him but failed. Once outside he ran unbridled. First the parking lot then the field then across the river that was too wide.

Nimbly dodging any cars that refused to slow, he made it past the last man-made obstacle. Only one voice could stop him now.

Beauty was unable to keep pace.

Like the periphery that faded with focus, his memory too was stunted by his remarkable speed.

He did not hear the cheetah give up. He did not feel the eagle miss.

Eyes fixed onward and upward, he did not see the blades of grass become shards of rock or the blood with which his path now painted.

His shirt lost to the wind. He welcomed the new freedom and speed.

The rocks grew bigger as he ran higher. His hands coated the terrain with their own hue as they helped climb.

Above the clouds, the sight tripped him. He tucked, rolled, and landed in stride, not even slowing enough for sound to catch up.

Closer closer, higher higher, he bounded from one boulder to the next, leaving behind more than his mark.

All false summits forgotten, his focus sharpened for the last time. Plans filled the remaining moment.

He saw the rock. He saw color become colors. He saw round become flat. He saw smooth become textured. He saw now become ancient. He saw high become low.

His fingertips reached skyward as he powerfully planted his right foot. All creation below searched in vain to see what he grasped as he pulled himself high into the air.

Chest out, shoulders back, fists balled at the end of arms flexed behind him, his body reached its summit. He cried out one word.

As his blood-drenched toes felt the earth once again, his legs did not have the strength or desire to fight the fall. He heard his flesh smack as he crumpled to his knees.

Covering his face with his pained and bloodied hands, he sobbed.

Then he prayed like a sinner.