[Michelle] On the Move
Who: Michelle Webster
When: June 15, early afternoon
Where: Somewhere in Haven, IL
Invited: Open to anyone in Haven who wants to jump in
Status: Incomplete
Michelle ran. Her arms moved rythmically, hands relaxed. Her breathing was deep, slow and even. Her Nike cross-trainers slapped the pavement in a monotomous beat. The midday summer sun was bright and hot. Sweat poured out of her, soaking her halter top and denim shorts. She pushed her sunglasses back up her sweat-slick nose.
She followed no set course, had no destination in mind. Michelle made turns or continued straight ahead at each intersection as the whim took her. It had been a couple of weeks since the last time she had run and she could feel it. It took a while to find the correct form, but once she had she'd settled into a mile-eating pace.
Running required discipline but not thought. Michelle could disengage her conscious mind, let it idle while she simply kept moving. It was almost a form of meditation. When her world had narrowed down to the struggle to keep her feet moving, to resist the growing fatigue and desire to rest, there was nothing left over for memories, regrets or second-guessing. It blew the cobwebs out of her brain and dissolved stress and anxiety in a sea of endorphins.
By the time Michelle slowed to a walk, she was in a better mood than she'd been when she started. The sports bra and halter top were dark with sweat, as were the cut-off jean shorts she wore. Real running shorts would have been cooler, but they didn't accomodate a belt, much less the holstered Glock attached to the belt. The encounter with Earl had been a powerful reminder that even in this mostly empty world one needed to keep one's guard up. So she endured the heavy denim shorts, the stiff belt and the weight of the gun on her hip as she ran.
Michelle walked until she found a mini-mart, then ducked inside. It still had power and she was grateful for the air conditioning. She grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and drank it greedily. She figured she'd run almost fifteen miles and knew she was dehydrated. She chuckled at the thought of what the Michelle of years past would think to see her now. From teenage party girl who drank, smoked and snorted anything she could get her hands on, she'd turned into a dedicated athlete.
No, not an athlete. A warrior. She didn't run to keep her girlish figure, she ran to live. "We don't get sick, or old," Amanda had told Michelle early in their relationship, "but there's nothing to stop you getting fat and lazy. Sloth can kill you--one day someone takes your head because you're too out-of-shape to fight or run." Just like she'd learned to shoot, to fight barehanded, to use a sword. Just like she'd learned to push her humanity into a corner of her mind and see the man on the other end of a weapon as simply a target, a threat to be neutralized.
Michelle whipped around and threw the empty Gatorade bottle at the far wall. "Goddamn you, Earl!" The bottle shattered against the wall, the shards raining down onto a counter and the floor. She hated Earl for what he'd done. Not for what he'd probably intended to do--but for making her kill him. She hated him for afflicting her with the sleepless nights and endless replays of those fateful seconds she knew she'd endure in the days to come.
Michelle stood staring at the far wall, breathing hard, surprised by the sudden flash of temper. (Okay, I guess I'm not as calm as I like to think I am.) It would be so much easier if she were the casual killer Ami probably imagined she was. Except then she'd be a sociopath like Axel Whittaker. No thanks.
(If sleepless nights and self-doubts are the price of not turning into Axel,) Michelle thought, (I guess I'll pay it without complaining too much.) Michelle stood thinking for another minute, then began to feel chilly as the air conditioning cooled her still-damp clothes. She grabbed a bottle of water and a couple of candy bars and left the mini-mart to start the long walk back to Ami's house.
OOC: Anyone who wants to run into Ami can feel free to place her anywhere in Haven they like. It's a long way back to the house, so she could be anywhere.
When: June 15, early afternoon
Where: Somewhere in Haven, IL
Invited: Open to anyone in Haven who wants to jump in
Status: Incomplete
Michelle ran. Her arms moved rythmically, hands relaxed. Her breathing was deep, slow and even. Her Nike cross-trainers slapped the pavement in a monotomous beat. The midday summer sun was bright and hot. Sweat poured out of her, soaking her halter top and denim shorts. She pushed her sunglasses back up her sweat-slick nose.
She followed no set course, had no destination in mind. Michelle made turns or continued straight ahead at each intersection as the whim took her. It had been a couple of weeks since the last time she had run and she could feel it. It took a while to find the correct form, but once she had she'd settled into a mile-eating pace.
Running required discipline but not thought. Michelle could disengage her conscious mind, let it idle while she simply kept moving. It was almost a form of meditation. When her world had narrowed down to the struggle to keep her feet moving, to resist the growing fatigue and desire to rest, there was nothing left over for memories, regrets or second-guessing. It blew the cobwebs out of her brain and dissolved stress and anxiety in a sea of endorphins.
By the time Michelle slowed to a walk, she was in a better mood than she'd been when she started. The sports bra and halter top were dark with sweat, as were the cut-off jean shorts she wore. Real running shorts would have been cooler, but they didn't accomodate a belt, much less the holstered Glock attached to the belt. The encounter with Earl had been a powerful reminder that even in this mostly empty world one needed to keep one's guard up. So she endured the heavy denim shorts, the stiff belt and the weight of the gun on her hip as she ran.
Michelle walked until she found a mini-mart, then ducked inside. It still had power and she was grateful for the air conditioning. She grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and drank it greedily. She figured she'd run almost fifteen miles and knew she was dehydrated. She chuckled at the thought of what the Michelle of years past would think to see her now. From teenage party girl who drank, smoked and snorted anything she could get her hands on, she'd turned into a dedicated athlete.
No, not an athlete. A warrior. She didn't run to keep her girlish figure, she ran to live. "We don't get sick, or old," Amanda had told Michelle early in their relationship, "but there's nothing to stop you getting fat and lazy. Sloth can kill you--one day someone takes your head because you're too out-of-shape to fight or run." Just like she'd learned to shoot, to fight barehanded, to use a sword. Just like she'd learned to push her humanity into a corner of her mind and see the man on the other end of a weapon as simply a target, a threat to be neutralized.
Michelle whipped around and threw the empty Gatorade bottle at the far wall. "Goddamn you, Earl!" The bottle shattered against the wall, the shards raining down onto a counter and the floor. She hated Earl for what he'd done. Not for what he'd probably intended to do--but for making her kill him. She hated him for afflicting her with the sleepless nights and endless replays of those fateful seconds she knew she'd endure in the days to come.
Michelle stood staring at the far wall, breathing hard, surprised by the sudden flash of temper. (Okay, I guess I'm not as calm as I like to think I am.) It would be so much easier if she were the casual killer Ami probably imagined she was. Except then she'd be a sociopath like Axel Whittaker. No thanks.
(If sleepless nights and self-doubts are the price of not turning into Axel,) Michelle thought, (I guess I'll pay it without complaining too much.) Michelle stood thinking for another minute, then began to feel chilly as the air conditioning cooled her still-damp clothes. She grabbed a bottle of water and a couple of candy bars and left the mini-mart to start the long walk back to Ami's house.
OOC: Anyone who wants to run into Ami can feel free to place her anywhere in Haven they like. It's a long way back to the house, so she could be anywhere.