A calming jog

[vile]

Steady but light drizzle dampens the ground and foliage while providing a backdrop of noise for the sound of thinking. Bits of debris cling to the runner's legs. A small piece of leaf tickles his cheek but focus on the jog tunes it out. Swift reflexes mean a quick dodge; just enough of a reaction time for hopping successfully over a fallen log. But slick leaves rest on mud and the ground slides upon impact. A twist of hips, a heel digs into a clump of mud and rock, and a crash is narrowly averted. The near-miss and stumble convince him to take a break.

Westley bends at the waist to rest and prop himself up by holding his knees. Breathing comes slowly at a controlled pace. Pale blue eyes ease shut to aid focus. The sound of blood pumping in his ears briefly drowns out the patter of gentle rain. A support group, he thinks, Suspension of Disbelief For Dummies. The joke makes him laugh and crack an eye open. A slug inches across an upturned leaf and he watches it with mild interest. The jog will resume once it reaches the edge.

I lied to her. A sigh and he shakes his head, Joyce is my wife and I lied to her. Weight shifts to one leg and frees up one of his hands to wipe over his face. Water and sweat push back over his hair and trickle down the back of his head. He draws in a deep breath and holds it to collect new thoughts while pushing these troublesome ones away. A glance to the slug to check its success. It has is no longer on the leaf and is presumably successful. With this timer up he stands, stretches both arms high above his head, and sways from one side to the other. The canopy and glimpses of sky beyond hold his gaze.

I've been running for miles. How have I not run smack dab into the wall yet? This place isn't endless. That's a question to lob at JJ later. Realization hits him: where is the exit? Oh. Oh. Oops. Again he rubs his face as an irritated rumble blows out through his nose. Fuck. I could ask Siri where I am... Realizing it might be a decent idea he gives it a go. The white iPhone in its sleek black case is soon in his hand and waking from sleep mode. "What is my location relative to the exit?" Siri takes a moment to respond, "It's just a jump to the left. And then a step to the right. Put your hands on your hips--" and she's silenced before finishing. "I know where this is going. Enough."

Well, shit. I guess I could...take a nap? By now he's certainly tired enough. Pent up frustration and energy has long since burned away leaving only exhaustion and sore muscles in its wake. The crack of a branch and rustle of leaves makes his head jerk up. A quick scan of the area brings no clue of what made the noise. He stands and stretches his head up as far as it will go. Nothing there. Another snap behind him and he turns to face what appears only to be a shadow fleeting from the corner of his eye. Fear makes the breath catch in his throat and he bolts forward. There's no running from this thing but he still takes flight like a spooked rabbit.

The ground is as unforgiving as earlier but this is no longer a semi-welcome level of difficulty and is instead a great burden. One foot slams into a stone large enough to take his weight and allow vaulting upwards. A hand catches a tree and gives him a shove to boost speed and help maneuvering. While he won't turn to glance back the raised hairs on the back of his neck convince him something is there and that something must be close enough to exhale a cold breath on him.

Up ahead, suddenly visible through the treeline, is the intended focal point of this simulation: a monastery. Tired muscles get the help they need with a burst of adrenaline. On he goes and sprints nimbly toward the end. But just before he reaches the pathway one ankle twists. He goes down with the pop of torn ligament and grunt of pain. Both hands strike ground and friction between palm and stone bring him to a painful stop. Can't get up in time.

Fear tightens his jaw and body as he flips himself over to lay eyes upon his hunter. Nothing there. Only the sound of falling rain and ambient noise of a serene forest. Dread lingers on his nerves. Seconds feel like hours as he waits for what feels like the inevitable end but nothing comes. He's alone in this simulation. A nervous laughter burbles from his lips and he collapses on the ground. The injuries burn. Blood wells from his skin and mingles with the damp ground.

Eventually the tired jogger stands and hobbles to the exit. The panel cover slides open and simulation ends. The place, the atmosphere, whatever chased him, are all gone. Only an empty room and a man with nerves in shambles remain.

The retreat home is one with an uneven gait. While the injuries don't persist the sting remains for a short time. Back to his temporary home, the one with no mirrors and the reflective bits covered by paper, for a good rest carried to him by a prescription sleep aid.