Surreal. A dream I can no longer wake from has taken over my very exsistance. All I can see, over and over, in some sadistic slow-motion film, is Grace and Stella in the courtyard and that man chasing after me. Running to and from at the same time, but it seems backwards somehow. Should I be running to the man, who I professed innocence? Why should I care what he thinks or even believes? Why would my saying,'I am not the madman' be believed by a total stranger?
In the instant our eyes met at the pub, we were locked in a kind of exsistance only for us, a few seconds was a lifetime and we had exchanged all our thoughts in one burst of feeling. At the time, I thought it was pure fear of being caught and he was my greatest enemy, so of course I had to run for my life only to be nearly run down by a horse cart. But his eyes told me something else... he was the one who was afraid. Was it his sense of duty, a blind reaction to chase me down? Glory of capture, ridding the streets of a mad killer? No, that much foreboding eats at your soul and living becomes a habit of motions, day after day. I understand that all too well. We share a living death that is far worse than that bastard we are both chasing can ever inflict.
I can't ignore it any longer... I have to find out if I can... trust him...it's nearly 10 p.m., time to go have a pint.
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