As I lay living, it occurs to me I should be dying.
Having spent the day dancing and sweating and running and screaming, I should be at the end of the sidewalk where the dead end meets the curb. Somewhere in the middle of it all I forgot to prepare for my imminent demise, and so it must not have happened.
Is this normal? Does this happen to the other boys who run against the clock?
As I lay, living, I correct myself and realize that it should be “as I lie, living.”
As I lie, living, I lie beside the friend who, like me, danced and sweat and ran and screamed. She lives too, albeit with a mask on.
How can I make it to tomorrow? Through tomorrow?
Open the side door, I need an escape.