Prison Break drabble
Title: “One Man On The Run”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: Episode 1x22, “Flight”
Summary: Michael’s feelings during the final minutes of the episode when the Escapees are running towards the jet that’s taking off. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: *sigh* Not mine. Never will be.
A/N: Just a little drabble. I was really impressed by the Season 1 finale.
ONE MAN ON THE RUN
Things didn’t always go exactly as planned. Michael thought he should be used to it by now, but every time something crashed, he was getting nervous. The air around him would be hot and thick, and it would be hard to breathe.
Run, run, run, run, run, run…
The word hammered in Michael’s head forcefully; its nagging thundering noise was all he could hear. The wind beat in his face as he ran forth, and all around him - the others, scattered about the field like wingless birds trying to take off into the flight of salvation. His legs threatened to fail him with every step he took.
One intake of air as the chest heaved and the lungs expanded. One step as the foot brushed the brittle grass surrounding the airstrip, barely touching it. One second to blink as the blinding light hit the darkness all around them, tearing it to shreds, leaving it a holey fabric with rainbow-coloured stains shining all over it.
The wind hissed in his ears, and for a second Michael became deaf. ‘Know no fear!’ he thought numbly. ‘Run, run, RUN!’
The jet’s turbines hummed noisily. It struck Michael that something was going wrong. He tried to move his legs faster, ignoring the stinging that rose from within his body and pierced his ribs momentarily.
The jet was moving. It glided along the runway, it maneuvered, and it began picking up speed.
A man on the run is always alone. Sighs and choked inhales came from the people who ran alongside him. To Michael, these unfamiliar sounds meant nothing. For a moment - a brief, but nevertheless a significantly long moment - even Lincoln, his brother, the reason behind his every move for the past several years, ceased to exist. Michael was alone in the middle of an empty field enclosed in a tight ring of police cars. They wailed and blinded him with flashlights.
The jet rushed in the their direction like a huge raging bird. They jumped in front of it, shouting and throwing their hands up in the air. Anger and despair gripped Michael. It couldn’t have been for nothing! It shouldn’t have!..
The jet took off. Their throats raw, they still screamed, trying to get the pilot’s attention… or maybe just screamed for themselves in order to justify the loss, to say afterwards, ‘We did everything we could!’
The cops were close. Too close. Sobered by their outcries, Michael looked to the future.
“What do we do now?” Sucre asked breathlessly.
No. Not everything.
Michael took a deep breath and said: “We RUN!”
June 21, 2007
