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Glimpses of a Muse’s Flight—Imagining Sophia Bush Starring as The Runaway Girl (Deleted Scene from an Hopefully Upcoming Novel)
Hunted down in the rainy night, she ran inside a body that was not her body—yet.
No streetlight along the road snaking up among dark hillsides, rain’s veil rippling downhill over the gleaming asphalt, towards her, behind her.
A runaway girl, not herself, but as she were herself.
She felt a weary heart, woe, panting breath, the weight of a secret burden, while the rain seemed to melt her long black hair —no footsteps noise, but the looming presence of white hunters.
She ran uphill towards a sharp bend, struggling along in slowed down time.
Her relief in reaching the bend was burned by blinding headlights.
She stood still hoping for help, an occasion to escape
They were there for her. —but straightaway some white figures got out of the car.
They did want her
—and for a dire purpose, as she, mysteriously but without any doubt, did know. The roadside seemed impossibile to get at.
Suddenly she stopped dead and leaped
—she did fly spread-eagled through the air, riving the rain, high above the glistening wet grass downslope
as she were barely able to rive the rainy air.
Decision was not hers, control was not hers
—flight, too, was not hers.
She was only a spy in ye body of ye runaway girl.
She lightly landed, the white shapes dim in the reflections of the headlights, standing still up there, under the rain, at the roadside.
—but as she were inside herself, weighted down by the burden.
Notwithstanding the rain-slippery grass sloping downhill, her leaps were slow, wearing, restrained, as if the dark night air was sticky and wrapping like an embracing and slowing slime in which to sink down slowly. She fell down in the wood, among darkling trees, over wet and gleaming leaves, in the darkness. She slipped the burden under the leaves and pushed it because she knew she was lost. She was inside her no more. She saw the runaway girl as if she were looking from the wood, hidden to spy her. The white and wet shapes got to the fallen girl, they hold her up notwithstanding her struggle, they searched her down, they searched around.
Now that she was looking at her from the outside, one of the white shapes struggling to tie the runaway girl, turned for a moment towards her as it could catch a glimpse of her in the darkness of the wood, though she was nowhere—as something were there between them, outside of both, and still inside them both. Was it possible? Who spied on whom? Who dreamed of whom?