3

3 Nothing terrifies you as much as a boring conversation, so you avoid the man and walk onward. Besides, you've got places to be. Mario, the Mexican waiter from Planet Terra, had suggested Little Rock before disappearing.
Your attention is dividing the land between walking and wonder when a cop car pulls up. The patrol men pull you in and take you to a station. There, your parents assume control. The sun sets on Nashville and rises on Cleveland, where you are behind bars. This time, the bars are those of a mental institution.
These bars have been painted the color of flesh. They are supposed to feel safe. Buttons divide rooms. Therapists press them, accessing broken brains and setting things in order.
You spend months here, struggling to act independently while letting others set the stage.
Each morning, you sit behind greasy windowpanes. You soak in a mild bath of sunlight. Time slows to a halt as dust mixes skies that evaporate with rays that penetrate. As a runaway, your strength couldn't get enough time, now it has too much time it is weak. For a moment, that infinitely tense desire to leave falters, and breaks.
"Yes," you speak learned words in defense of your sanity. Appropriate timing gets you off the hook, and eventually you're faced with a choice: do you pursue the mystery that broke your strength?
[To pursue the mystery, return to chapter 2. Otherwise, skip to chapter 6.]