Run, run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!
They ran, hand in hand, he was ahead, slightly pulling her along behind him. She initiated the race to safety, after seeing 'the creeper' at the corner store they were walking past. "Let's run, fast." she said, nearly whispering in his ear. They took off, speeding down the sidewalk, to the end. Then on the street, turning a corner. Out of sight, but still running. Still running. They stopped, he initiated it. They were at his destination, though not hers. She didn't take her turn, her different route. Neither of them seemed to notice when he opened the door of the bland, cookie-cutter house and pulled her inside. It was natural, if you believe in such things. Still holding on, she looked around as she was pulled around the corner, up the stairs. Another door. His room. She let go, and plopped on his bed, laying down. She saw the blue walls, the old soccer trophy's. His closed closet door, overflowing dresser. His desk was tidy, his ceiling fan spinning silently, waving hello to them. His backpack open on the floor, textbooks and notebooks spilling out. He sat on the desk, a funny look on his face as he looked out the window. Slowly, silently she sat up, then looked at him. His expression was befuddling, even to her. He startled when she asked,"What are you thinking about?"