Especially when I have to do it or die.People who run for fun are mental. There are very few times humans should run, like when they’re being chased through the Everglades by a basilisk. Only reason I am right now. And the longer I run, the more I begin to think death is preferable.Panting harder than a geek at the Playboy mansion, my legs pump through the wooded area surrounding the swamp. The thick, wet mud covering my jeans and sneakers adds unneeded resistance, and I am no Flo-Jo to begin with. That huge snake is gaining. I probably shouldn’t have shot at it. It might have ignored me while it feasted on that alligator, but what was I supposed to do when I happened across a forty-foot snake with horned fangs and it flicked its tongue at me? Fire and run. Exactly.I race through a thicket of ferns before jumping across a small ravine. I land in more mud, my hands and feet enveloped. Without missing a beat, I leap up and continue my sprint. The thick trees I just passed rumble and shake as the basilisk charges through.
