Anytime You Want

Fight or flight.
The two choices both are weighed down by negatives. They knew our position, but I'd scanned the area and there are no more cameras; I am pissed that I let the standard thermal imaging slip under my radar. I pace around the trailer where Frank still slept soundly. I know their next move will be a lone aircraft that will, without a second's thought, fill the sky with fire.
I sigh, and roll a cigarette.
When I left the Secret Service, I never wanted to kill, or see death, ever again. But they insist upon the ridiculous notion that death solves everything. The government is fucked up; they allow freedom within their rules, control us like we are chess pieces. And if one of us pawns gets taken? Who cares, right?
I blow smoke rings into the still air, my mind whirring. As inconspicuous as I am, everything is traceable, everything leaves a little mark. I like to study these things. The ash drifts from the softly glowing stick and I watch how the sunlight casts dancing shadows on the water of a muddy puddle.
Flight? We'd be running again. My own selfish needs rule out that, but for the greater good? Maybe. But where's the living in running? I learnt that there isn't a life when you're running after something you'll never kill, not when there's something you want. My objective is to keep Frank safe, and because of that goal, I can't run.
That leaves fight.
I am clever, I am quick. I am trained and I know how Boaz works. After all, I used to be his boss before I retrained into conditioning the mildly wicked into something a little more palatable. He plays by the book, even when he's trying to break all the rules. To me, this mundane stock character is more evil than the things the man who slumbers mere feet away has done, in the way he is convinced that he is right by restraining everything. In truth, little emotions, genuine pleasures, mean more to me than my life does; life to me is a series of moments. Some happy, some heartbreaking. You have to live those moments recklessly free, or else they'll run out before you realize you can't control them all and still have genuine joy.
I study the situation a little less philosophically as the stub of my fag falls and is extinguished by my foot. We are trapped like rats here, but running isn't an option. Then I smile.

The one thing that the Service taught me is that if you want to disappear, you need to make it quick.

Notes

I'm sorry for the long absence, I've been busy. Could you leave me your feedback and look at a text post about an mcr video on my twitter (@teapartypoison) please? I need your help.
Sorry it's brief,
love em xo