The thrill of the chase.
The thought that maybe, maybe, we’ll get away,
annuls the fear and pain.
Drunk on adrenaline,
and one or two special brew.
A comradely embrace,
getting through another line of perspex,
and terse expressions.
A new found agility courses,
of my ordinarily very clumsy frame.
Submerged in that moment,
in the intricate, changing game.
Suddenly reality returns,
a thundering blow, orders barked in staccato.
And the familiar pinch of cold steel,
Reminds me I am mortal.
The dull ker-clunk of a bolt finding it’s home,
And the escape is over.