His feet beat against the white tiles, the thunkthunkthunking leading his pursuers to him just as surely as a trail of crumbs would have. My mom used to read me that story, he thinks to himself. But he despairs because no little birds will come eat the noises his shoes make like they did the bread.
His lungs burn, but the whirring of opening portals and all the Heartless taking form scare him into a numbed frenzy where the sting is little more than a thrum in the back of his mind, drowned out by his erratic heart and thunkthunkthunking shoes.
Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man! He isn't sure why that pops into his mind, but he thinks the little cookie-man that had exclaimed that was in a favorable position, whereas Sora is in anything but. If the creepy men cloaked in black could hear his thoughts, he wonders if they'd call you can run, but you can't hide! at his back.
He thinks he's gotten his fairytales mixed up, but that's the least of his worries.
Ducking into a side passage, he runs down the bright hallway. It leads him into another corridor, one long and never-ending, with no doors or tunnels branching off. He spins around and tries to go back, but the nasty men following him gobbled up the noise-crumbs of his shoes and aren't full yet; they're after the person dropping the noise-crumbs now.
Their boots aren't nearly as loud and pounding as his thunkthunkthunking ones.
Powerless and loosing hope, he flees through the insanity of white walls and floors. It's a maze. A twisting maze that he can't find his way out of and he can only assume the men chasing him must have gone crazy because of it.
He feels like Cinderella when a shoe slips off. But it isn't worth the monsters catching him over, so he leaves it behind, just like the damsel in distress does.
He shouldn't be the damsel, though. He's the hero. He's the one people look up to; who they place their hope and dreams in.
But he's only a child. I'm not even sixteen yet! His mind cries. He can't even drive at his home of Destiny Islands, but here he's given a Keyblade and a Gummi Ship, a pat on the back, and instructions to save the worlds. He's a kid that still likes reading fairytales and hassles his mother when she tells him to do his homework.
That doesn't seem to matter, though. Because the legendary weapons chooses who wields it. It might be faulty – that's crossed his mind and been voiced, but everyone else is so at a loss for what to do that they tell him to just trust it. And so he does.
But when his legs give out and he can't do anything but pull himself against a white, white wall and try his hardest to shrink in on himself, he thinks maybe he's the wrong guy for this. Maybe he's one of those that need a leader; one of those that need a savior and a hero and a strong person to place his hopes and dreams in.
Clunkclunkclunk. That's the sound their shoes make. Quiet and subdued, only loud enough to hear because they want it to be.
He isn't sure why he looks up, but something tells him to. So he does.
And he immediately falls forward, his hands grasping the black cloak's hem. Indifferent aqua eyes stare down into beseeching azure. Pale, peachy lips open, "Save me," he murmurs. "Please."
The standing man doesn't move; doesn't even acknowledge his begging. Maybe he thinks I'm pitiful – that's what his mind supplies for the lack of reaction. I'm supposed to be the savior, after all.
The clunkclunkclunking is very, very close. They're probably in this hallway now, he tells himself.
He figures it's as good a time as any to become frantic.
So he does. "Save me," said the savior. And he's down on his knees, his only hope the empty shell of his bitter best friend.
He doesn't think he's going to ever earn his license at home.
Or hassle his mother about doing his homework.
Or read another fairytale before he goes to bed.
And he doesn't think he's ever going to save the worlds.