Runner / Patty Chelm

There is a woman running straight for you.  Sprinting.  It's not clear whether or not she's aware you are standing there, whether she's looking right at you or right through you.  You could step out of her way but at this point you don't feel it's necessary.  Years of societal norms ingrained in your brain dictate that she will change her course well before your paths cross.  She must.  But still she comes, legs pumping furiously.  The site is so peculiar that you can't help but find it humorous.  In the deepest recesses of your mind a single neuron fires and demands you briefly consider the possibility of colliding.  You oblige and conjure up images from your past of imminent doom: The site of the next door neighbor's mail box fast approaching as you feebly attempt to operate the hand brake of your first bike, the site of the Hilder's doorbell as you ready yourself for Natalie to open the door and respond to your revelation that you'll be taking Becky Parson's to homecoming instead but you'd still very much like to remain friends, the site of Mr. Pashman's angry stare as you realize he's noticed your hurried glances at the cheat sheet concealed under your desk. 

The rhythmic crunch of rubber on cement bring you back to the matter at hand.  This is truly remarkable!  The woman's manic pace is a sharp contrast to the quiet, sparsely populated sidewalk.  Just what exactly could she be running from or to?  There is no impending danger apparent, no raging brush fires or flash floods hot on her tail.  She's several strides closer now and the intensity in her eyes make it apparent that this could not be categorized as exercise.  Perhaps she knows you and this is a miscalculated attempt at a joke.  Perhaps she's crazy.  Any feeling of fascination or humor has now turned to utter confusion.  You're now certain you don't know this person.  What the hell is going on here?  Could she be coming even faster now?  Her head seems impossibly in front of her barreling body, like a sprinter's final lean toward the finish line.  Confusion changes to genuine concern as it doesn't look like she could stop even if she wanted to.  Instincts kick in for the first time and tell you to move.  The muscles fibers in your legs twitch accordingly but your knees remained locked, uncertain of which direction to go.  You stand there, still and dumbfounded, as the final opportunity to get out of the woman's way passes.  In the last tenth of a second before your bodies meet you concede to the unfortunate manner this will end and brace yourself.  You wonder who she is.  You wonder why you didn't move sooner.  You wonder if you remembered to program an 'in case of emergency' contact in your cell phone.  You wonder where the nearest emergency room is.  You wonder all these things as everything goes white, then black.