A Tribute to Molloy

Outside it is raining, and the cold drops hit the pavement hard. The road seems to funnel ahead of me and stretch for miles and miles, awash in the golden orange glow of the streetlights. I cannot see if there is anyone else around. I am Jesus, I think, I can run on water. That is how fast it feels like I’m running. I have to stop to breath. It feels like my heart is trying to claw its way out of my throat, and I gag. Heaved over, I look into a large puddle formed in a crater on the road. I imagine what my reflection would look like, swimming in the murky puddle, rain droplets breaking the image into a million tiny jigsaw puzzle pieces of myself. But I see nothing. I feel a scorching burn on the back of my neck. I have been standing too close. I run, trying to escape its sweltering heat, but the rays of the streetlights chase me down the street, painting my dark shadow ahead of me. I want to dive into it, to escape the light, the heat, and to be swallowed up by the darkness of my shadow and the wetness of the asphalt. But down there, stuck in the asphalt, even if no one could see me, they would still walk all over me with their shoes and their boots and their heels. Not that it matters, but my shoes’ souls have almost completely separated themselves from the boot of my shoe, hanging on only by a flap that made a loud clapping sound when I run. I haven’t removed them from my feet in ages, not since I had first tied them on. A strong, sturdy knot for a good pair of shoes. My feet are soaked, and the squishing noise of each footstep makes me think I’m sinking in a bog, being dragged down by a slow, bubbling quicksand. The faster I run, the less contact my feet will have with the ground, so I pick up my pace, trying to run only on the very tip of my toes. I’m leaning so far forward that I begin to spiral down like an airplane, nose first. I wonder if I crashed and got lost if anyone would be able to find me before I became an outline of chalk.