I know from my childhood days in the forest that if I run fast enough they won't be able to see me. It's really the only defense I have against them. Well, that, and closing my eyes. Anyone who has made it to adulthood knows that they won't hurt you when your eyes are closed. It's a question of honour.
A thought blossoms in my mind, that maternally-affirmed cleverness bearing fruit: if I run with my eyes closed I'll be invisible and invincible, impervious to their plots against me.
I set my jaw firmly, a grin of grim defiance splashed across my face, close my eyes, and run.
With my sense of sight gone I am more attuned to the world of sounds and smells. The air rushes past my ears even as my eardrums echo with the rumble of my pulsing blood. My footfalls clip-clop on the concrete. The stale scent of damp brick and the sting of cold air assaults my sinuses.
I will forever associate these senses with freedom.
My escape is ruined, though, as I hear a scream from somewhere beside me. I open my eyes just in time to see the vehicle in front of me, and then I scream, too. There's no slowing my frantic pace, and I collide full tilt with the parked taxi.
My knees throb immediately from the impact, and a small crowd gathers.
Not what I need. You've ruined it, Alpaca Dave. Ruined it!
Mike whatshisface emerges from the alley, still swearing, and jostles through the cluster of concerned citizens.
"A-Dave, you idiot!What in God's name were you thinking?"
"I was trying to escape," I whisper, still bent over the hood of the taxi.
"I'd hit you for what you did in the alley," Mike says cooly, "but it looks like something else has beat me to it."
"Mike," I reply.
"Of course you do, you just ran into a parked car." Mike pauses to tell a woman to put down her cell phone, there's no need for an ambulance. That task done, he turns back to face me. "Probably better than the car running into you, though. Now get up, you owe me a shirt and an apology."
I grumble as I push my defeated body off the car, willing my legs to hold my weight.
"Sorry, erm, Mike," I mumble as we walk away. Luckily the owner of the taxi wasn't present, as there were a few small dents in the hood. He would have made quite the scene and likely attracted even more of them.
"For what, Dave?"
"Sorry for attacking you with my sandwich."
"Better," he says. "Now, about my shirt."
Another idea springs to my mind, though much more slowly than the others before it. Maybe, just maybe, I can salvage my disguise and escape for good. It would be a risky move, though, and could potentially put Mike in danger.
He has befriended me, he's already in permanent danger.
"Take my shirt, Mike. I'll wear yours."
"You sure, A-Dave?"
"Yah," I reply with a smile. "No problem."
"Uhm, well, thanks," he stammers.
A quick swap later and I'm a new man again, disguised against their prying eyes.