The Creatures Unknown
When Robin runs in the woods, she sees monstrous, misshapen figures in the periphery of her vision. They are creeping creatures, who did not move so much as mist, who shiver and shimmer as she strains to see them.
The faster she runs, the more she sights the creatures. The edges of their skin settle, the gleam in their eyes steadies, and, as if they are two trains passing each other in a tunnel, Robin has one perfect moment where she can see the creatures in their entirety. When that happens, Robin is the run incarnate. Her body propels itself far beyond what she is capable of, the burden of gravity lifts from her legs, and Robin feels a power much greater than her gnawing at the force tethering her to the world outside the run.
The leaves around her burn like silver fire and the world falls into a gray oblivion. When she runs in the woods, mundanities cease to matter. When she runs, she feels the world bead up like droplets on her bare skin, flying off into the vast unknown she leaves behind her. Robin feels, but what she feels she does not know; whatever long forgotten world that exists solely between breaths and tree trunks becomes viscerally alive within her.
When she runs, Robin can see joy in the flickering of the phantom creatures. They are not menacing so much as mysterious, something Robin cannot entirely understand and instinctively fears. Yet, creatures who live so singularly, who skim across the ground as if a dragonfly over a lake, she can only hope would not harm those who run alongside them.
Robin can only hope, and hope she does. She hopes as she curves around the trees, or the trees curve around her. She hopes, and the forest begins to fall into the sky, molten leaves swirling past her. Robin hopes as the edges of her body melt into the warmth of the run, and she surrenders to the indefinable joy of losing herself to the woods, the run, and the creatures who lead her further and further from where she began.