Semi-Daily Scribbles

The suggestion hit Randi on both sides of her head. Concussion protocols activated. The call, though? The one that told her to run away rather than stand her ground? Yeah, Randi would live the rest of her days to regret that decision. Always an army of one, Randi relied on the predictability of chance. Mishaps and happenstance and graceful mistakes were what drove Randi to do the opposite of whatever logic the membrane dictated. React with a contrary action. The risky moves always got Randi what she wanted. And what she wanted nobody else could bear. Isolation. Misunderstanding. Sympathetic whispers with eye contact averted. All alone, straddling the line, is how an army of one rolls. Randi knew best to never look back. She made sure her trail left no impression; her time elongated and immune to scrutiny. Randi accepted her fate as the clock that wouldn't wind down. But ripples rise up with each step and drift far, far beyond what is known. While Randi ran, the ground fell away beneath a child's feet.