Run - Final Version

Ok.. I sit here as I do sometimes.. and try to think of.... nothing.. Its not easy to NOT think.. even thinking about NOT thinking... is thinking.. And in this exercise.. I imagined my passing from this world and what it would be like. THE STAR-RUNNER The room is quiet when it begins. A soft hum rises in your chest — not a sound, but a vibration. Your fingers twitch once, then go still. The weight of your body feels impossible, like wet sand pressing you into the mattress. You whisper into the half-dark: “I don’t… belong here anymore.” No one hears it. Or maybe someone does. A warmth blooms behind your ribs, spreading upward like a sunrise trapped beneath your sternum. The heat grows brighter, sharper, until it’s too much to contain. You gasp. Or maybe your body gasps without you, because in the next instant— You rise. A translucent silhouette of yourself pulls free, peeling away from the shell of bone and skin. Your soul stands over the bed, shimmering faintly, watching your still chest rise one final inch and fall. For a moment, fear tugs at you. “Am I dead?” A voice — not a person, not a creature, just a knowing — brushes against your thoughts: “No. You’re free.” The ceiling dissolves like water disturbed by a stone. You are lifted upward, drawn toward the break in reality. You don’t resist. You rush through the roof without touching it, leaving your body behind like a coat you’ve outgrown. The night sky opens its arms as you burst through the last layer of cloud. Wind whips through you though you have no skin. Below, the world shrinks — a patchwork of city lights and sleeping houses. You look down once. “Goodbye,” you whisper. Not sad. Not afraid. Just done. Then you run. Your feet meet nothing — yet every step sends a bloom of pale light rippling under you, like you’re running across an invisible surface stretched across the sky. Stars glimmer overhead. One of them pulses, faintly. Almost like it’s greeting you. As you reach the edge of the atmosphere, your speed increases. Your body never knew how to do this. Your soul understands instinctively. You breathe — and instead of air, you inhale light. A laugh slips from you, small and disbelieving. “I… can keep going.” The same voice answers, gentle as gravity losing its hold: “Then go.” You step into the cosmic dark. The moment your foot touches the vacuum, you ignite. Not in flame — in speed. Time bends, shapes smear, the stars stretch into luminous streaks. You gasp again, exhilarated: “I’m running at light speed…” A star rushes past your vision like a blurred lantern. Nebulas drift ahead, clouds of violet and gold, swirling like ancient spirits waking at your arrival. You reach out. Your hand dips into the nebula, and the gas curls around your fingers, glowing brighter where you touch it. “Beautiful…” The universe hums back to you, a vibration through the black. A planet swings into view — marbled blue and white, surrounded by a thin ring. You skid along its ring like a rail, scattering shards of frozen ice that sparkle behind you. A moon drifts close. You leap toward it, landing on its dusty surface without sound. For a moment, everything is still. You stare up at the galaxy hanging above you. “No limits…” you breathe. “None at all.” The voice inside you softens, approving: “Only the ones you choose.” You take one step forward and vanish into motion again, light bending around you like a cloak. You run across the arm of the Milky Way, surfing its curve, watching entire star systems sweep past beneath your feet. A thought rises — and the universe answers it. You imagine lifting off the path. Instantly, you soar. You imagine splitting into multiple directions. Your soul scatters into a thousand brilliant pieces. You imagine reforming. You collapse back into a single self, laughing at the weightlessness. “I can shape the way I move…” “You can shape everything now.” You slow — for the first time since leaving Earth. A nebula sprawls before you, a vast cathedral of color, swirling in patterns that feel almost alive. You hover at its threshold as golden clouds drift past in slow motion. Something like awe presses against your chest. You whisper more to yourself than to the cosmos: “This… this is what freedom feels like.” The voice doesn’t correct you. It doesn’t need to. Your soul glows brighter. You look around—at the endless black, the shimmering galaxies, the trails of light from your own impossible footsteps. Then you smile. “I’m not going back.” There is no reply. Just a sense of approval. A cosmic nod. You turn away from the nebula, lean into the void, and let yourself fall forward. Your body erupts into speed again — pure, unbridled light slicing through the universe. Nebulas bloom around you. Planets drift beneath you. Stars scatter like diamonds in your wake. And you run. Past the edge of time. Past any place a body could follow. Past the last tether of mortality. A freed soul, carving its own path through creation.