Still Life: Where The Streets Have No Name

Her feet are steady, rhythmic, on the pavement; in time with the rest of her body, the wind blowing through wild blonde hair.

She feels him clasp her hand, briefly, darts a glance and a grin at him.

They run.

She feels it shift, the two ‘verses sliding into each other in a blur; sees it change around and under them, hears his breath catch. She waits for him to stop, tell her this is stupid, something, but he keeps running with her.

This land thrums beneath her feet, in time with her heartbeat and the blood pounding in her ears; it feels different, but more familiar than her supposed home ever did. A reassuring whisper in her ear, hands waiting to catch her if she falls.

They’ll have to go back sometime, deal with the fallout and their families, but – for now – she keeps her eye on the horizon.

For brief moments, in neither one universe nor the other, with her heart in her ears and her feet barely touching the ground, she thinks she knows freedom.

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