There was something about going for a run. Elle couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The feeling was akin to euphoria, pleasure coursing through her veins. Adrenaline served as her natural addiction. She panted, boots thudding along the pavement of the road. The silence was her song, the melody that kept her moving forward. Her chest rose and fell as she regulated her breathing. Exhale, inhale. Inhale, exhale.
In the vast silence of the town, Elle recalls the past.
Memories are a fickle thing. Selective, at best. You remember what you want to forget. You forget what you want to remember. Distorted images and disembodied voices resonate throughout her mind. Time is an incoherent loop, fuzzy and irrational. A loss of meaning.
Alone, she reflects on that what once was.