Tap, tap, tap..
The sound of heels smacking the cold, linoleum floor
echos through the empty halls.
a man in a suit frantically sprints,
slithering between cubicles and around walls,
like a mouse searching for cheese in a maze.
What is he running from?
what could be so terrible,
so formidable to terrify
a man such as him?

And then,
he glances back.
His wrinkles were carved around his mouth
as if he had had a tenacious and strenuous life.
And his eyes,
as brown as the trunk of a tree,
spoke only of remorse and pain.
His once merlot shirt
now darkened to mahogany,
as his sweat seeped through the cotton. 
Dirt was nesting under his fingernails
as if he used his hands, while lacking a shovel.

From the corner of my eye
I notice another man
dashing through the room behind us.
I caught the sight of his figure
reflecting on the glass panes on the entrance door.
He was a tall, robust man;
his hair was gelled stiff,
so the long locks did not fall over his eyes.

The new man
barged through the office,
slamming the door against the pristine white walls. 
And at that moment,
my jaw dropped.
I thought my eyes were misleading  me,
for it could not be real.
I realized the sweaty merlot shirt,
that same shade of brown in his eyes,
and his wrinkles just as defined.

They had the same face,
the same body,
the same mind.
they were the same person.

“I am not ready,
for that is why I continue to run.
I cannot face my inner demons,
for that is why I am not strong.
I continue to hide,
because the light terrifies me.”
the running man blurts.

He’s trapped,
cornered on the wall, with no escape in sight.
The pursuer continues to slowly advance,
and I,
as the prospector,
continue to sit and observe
the scene playing out before me

The pursuer, then
takes the sharp, rusted pair of orange stationery scissors
off the nearby desk
and with one, quick, smooth slice
the skin pulls apart
and deep red blood spills from the wound
like an endless stream. 
The pursuer dissipates,
as if he were never there --

Which, in fact,  he was not.
Color leaves the man’s face
And is replaced by a pale white. 
His once emotion filled eyes
now held emotionless pupils.

I take up my black cloak,
pulling the hood to cover my face. 
I move to the motionless body,
checking the pulse,
confirming his death. 
My job has been done

I never said I enjoyed my daily task,
but it must be done. 
For this man could not escape himself
no matter how hard he tried.    
His past, his problems, his lies
finally caught him.
Escape is unattainable,
which forces the decision
to either face the problem at hand
or run,
but running must always comes to an end.