She ran and ran and ran and ran. Today had been the straw that broke the camels back. Too much sickly warmth. Too many pillows, safety locks and endless TV series. Claustrophobia. Why was everything so clean? So organised? So empty and meaningless? She could barley breath. A daily battle with boredom. She felt dangerously close to giving in. Unfulfilled and imprisoned in her own monstrous head. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was running from. An internal, existential crisis? How could she be so weak? She knew deep down this was ridiculous but she needed to run. Her perfect cage, stocked full with everything she needed: it felt unbearable. Perhaps this is what can happen if primal human needs are suppressed for too long. Running felt like a natural coping mechanism. Something was missing. She felt trapped. Her chest burned, her ragged breathing cut through her like a knife. She was numb. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been running for, but the day had faded into dusk and she was surrounded by woodland. The faint roar of car engines felt far enough away to ignore. She lay down on the damp, grassy floor and felt her hot, sweat- gleaned body mould into the stable ground. She closed her eyes and welcomed in the earthy smells. She stretched her wrought body as far as it would go and allowed the blades of dewy grass to gently tease her skin. A moment of pure stillness encompassed her. Peace at last.