I hate everything about this city except its underside.
I hate the pitying looks - I walk into what used to be the subway - I hate how everybody here is Elven and gorgeous - step over the DO NOT ENTER sign - I hate how everything is reflective, how it isn't enough that small children look at me and scream, I have to see it too - careful, don't step on the broken glass - I hate having simple concepts explained to me slowly - third tunnel to the left - my face was destroyed by the acid, not my mind - now turn right, down to the blue line.
Fifty years ago I wouldn't have - drop my bag by the bench, there's nobody down here to steal it - been able to do this, because - jump into the darkness, land neatly on my feet - there would've still been electricity in the third rail. Ten years before that - take off running, straight down the tracks, nothing fancy yet - there would have been subway cars making the rounds. But right now - left at the fork, don't stop to think - the subway's been disused for almost half a century, and it's still dangerous but only if you - duck under the railing, keep on running - don't know what you're doing. I do.
Elves generally don't like subways. That's why the ones in Amon Lune are closed down - vault over the wall, forward roll, use the momentum - because the elves moved in and everyone else moved out and nobody used them. So either I'm a weird-ass elf - not like I didn't already know that, no, shut up, run faster - or maybe I'm just broken like they say - NO, SHUT UP, RUN FASTER.
I stop thinking and trust my heartbeat, trust my legs, trust my lungs - jump, don't fall, keep running - until the city lights blur in my mind like an overexposed photo - long open stretch, SPRINT - and I can't concentrate on anything but what's before me.
I dread going back into the sun.