She raised her head calmly and stared out the white lines
Challenging her.
They screamed at her to run, to run
To run.
She grinned slyly and stretched her legs slightly,
Looking back down at her pink knuckles,
Waiting for the gun.
Waiting for the gun.
Waiting for the gun.

'Get out of the WAY!'
She shot down the stripes,
Feet flying over the tarmac, feeling the occasional stone
Pressure her sole, pushing through the leather.
'Get out of the DAMN WAY!'
She hurtled down the road, barely taking heed of his warnings
And leapt onto the bonnet, denting its frail framework.

Over the top,
Onto the boot,
Back to the road,
And again, facing the relentless snow strips
Down its centre.

Faintly a voice cried out to stop
But she dismissed his warning and ran, yelling into the sky,
To the end of the street
Truly believing she was free
And soared.

Higher than the bank,
Above the tallest trees,
Into the clouds and up though the outer hemisphere,
Puncturing the earth's viscous barrier
Past Heaven itself.

Escaping gravity.
Escaping reality.

And found the Universe in all its naked glory,
Pinning the stars themselves down with her gaze
Caressing the velvet black of space.

The newsreader sighed heavily into the microphone
And warned gently, the audience he had acquired
Over the years.
A limp body, detached and empty had been found on
The roof of its mother's house.
Old before its time.
Dead before it lived.
'Drugs are dangerous. Just say no.'