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      The man rushed from out of the curtains.  Jumping off the stairs and landing with a crack to his knees, he began to run down the left aisle.  Sweat beading on his fore head, he thought of where he could go next.  They were after him.  They had come to get him.  Who was "they?"  THEY were the bringers of imprisonment.  The bringers of repetitive impediments of twisting slivers that drilled into the mind of a soul and incinerated the body away from itself.  Isolation they brought would be his imprisonment, for they were him.  Not him in body and mind, but those who acted like him.  Who conformed to him?  With a sudden burst of strength he erupted through the doors of the theatre.  Fresh air.  It would have been welcome on a normal occasion, but he was in no mood to stop and gander in the glory of what was going on around him.  He had to run, get away, escape.  Why were they so relentless in their search?  One may wonder what he had done.  He had done nothing, but it was what he might do.  To remove his freedom was his crime.  The crime they kept closest to their hearts because it was what every living soul could obtain but could not proclaim. It was the non materialistic gold that could not be taken away once given due to its mindset.
      He had to think fast but couldn't.   His heartbeat raced.  They would attempt to stop this freedom forever.  Death? No.  Why give such a trivial thing to those who believe that it is something so massive, but yet they're faith instructs it to be so trivial.  Because of the emancipation of the soul into the unknown of rule.  The screw that would only twist the mind.  Perverting its perception of what happened in the behind, but at the same time forwards and not rewind.  
He sprinted down the cobblestone street ignoring the sound made by his feet.  Taking his feat entwining his skill only to avoid the kill. They came closer.  The ultimate death and isolation: to be forgotten.  He could not risk this.  The beacon of light.  Simile.  It was a grand building that had been constructed to breach the heavens.  No other structure, other than that made of nature, could surpass its height and boldness.  He had to subsist there.  It was an uncontrollable urge that forced him to go.  He couldn't describe it.  It just happened.  He legs were moving and the world seemed to move in half tempo. Nothing else mattered to him.  He must reach all that was great, but which one could not hate in present state.  
He had reached its base.  Growing angry at how repetitive he had become in the story of his own demise he began to slow down and think.   He then scaled the stair in a rhythm that became dramatic only to him.  The door, he had reached it.  Twisting life so that it wouldn't be remembered but at the same time would still mean the same thing, he thrust an open palm into the door.  The force of his lunge burst open the door in an exploding fashion.  He had reached the summit of the building.  His strength beamed for he had became what he had always wanted.  They were there in the midst of his glory.  His suit making him look three fold what he felt.   
      Would he do it?  Do what he new was right, but had never had the courage to do in the past.  Yes. Ready for his repetition, he removed his mask.  He removed his anguish, his fear, his hate.  He removed all that made him mortal.  He obtained actualization.  They could not believe it for he had obtained what was always there, but could not be.  What happened to them now?  The still consumed him.  Still isolated him and made him forgotten.  Was this his curse…or his reward?