Running. She was running. As she ran, despite the franticness of the situation, she was reminded of that old nursery rhyme… run run run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man.
And I am the gingerbread man, she thought to herself with some amusement as she darted into an alley way, pausing momentarily to catch her breath. I’m a ginger, with red hair and I’m running from a man so…
…oh alright, she admitted to herself. The analogy doesn’t fit. But it’s still a cute nursery rhyme.
And with that thought, she took off running once more, that same old son running through her head like a mantra which kept her feet pounding against the pavement.