So here I am. A boy. Eight.

Running.

I can't remember how it started. Maybe I was irritant, a fly waiting to be caught. Then they started the chase and I was off.

Running.

Or perhaps it was the fact I was there, a witness. It was just to much of a risk for them. Him. It.

Running.

But it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that it goes, the black thing in the back of my heart that spews out the words.

Running.

The words that make me shudder, that make me want to turn round, to curl up.

Running.

"You're not going to make it. You'll fall. You'll stop, or even worse you'll never stop."

Running.

But I mustn't give into... it. I must think of something else.

Running.

I'm sprinting through a field, freshly mown. I'm laughing.

Running.

Just got to keep away from it. I run past others, laughing, spinning and we're off, like bumper cars gone out of control.

Running.

It has gone now. The black thing. It. Because now everything's a big game. A big laugh.

Running.

We are all skipping now. Now sprinting, now jogging, twirling, spinning, hopping.

Running.

But wait. They are gone and the laughter with it. I'm alone with... it. It is running. I am running. Faster, faster until everything is a blur of shapes, colours, sweat and fear. A spinning nightmare.

Running.

Then a yell. A scream. A black shapeless hand reaching out. A shock. Red. Blood. Shadow.

Falling.

And that's it. It has gone. But I am here still... or am I?

there is only one thing left to say...

Tag! You're it.