Run

He finds himself running, running to his prosecutors, like enemies riding on the back of a pick-up truck. They hurl their insults, They hurl their hatred towards him, They hurl their disgust, and They hurl their proverbial bowls of custard. Yet he runs, runs solely for his defense, runs because he is not afraid, but the custard wasn't bad either. The Scenario was set: him running along the truck, his Enemies beside him, taking deep breaths, those animals. He suddenly stops, stops, stops, stops, stops, stops. He thinks, and the proverbial chanting begins. "Dan, dune, dahn, Dan, dune, dahn, Dan, dune, dahn, Dan, dune, dahn."