Clap, clap, clap.
Thunderous applause filled the room. It was just an ordinary afternoon for the film crew, but the narrow apartment space was alive with the joy of creation and the surge of inspiration.
Yet, Anson felt suffocated.
It was like drowning, slowly and tangibly sinking, forgetting to resist until the deep blue of the lake surrounded him, cold and piercing. The eerie blue was turning to inky black, and as the colors of the world gradually faded, his survival instincts finally kicked in, struggling to break free.
Run.
"Run, Junior, run."
He froze.
"Run, Anson, run!"
Before his mind could process, his body had already reacted.
Amidst the applause and the rising emotions, he fled in panic, rushing out.
The applause continued, and the crew hadn't realized what had happened. They thought Anson was heading to the bathroom or going to hug Steven. One by one, they watched him dart out the apartment door, and before they could grasp it, he had vanished completely.
Clap, clap, clap.
The crew exchanged glances while clapping, completely unaware of what had just occurred.
On set: ????
Wait, what's going on? Can someone explain what just happened?
Huh?
Surprisingly, it was Steven who reacted first, a thought flashing through his mind:
Too deep into character.
Steven didn't know what Anson had gone through, but in that instant, he, Anson, and Junior Frank, their mental worlds broke free from the constraints of time and space and resonated, recognizing this connection in each other.
In the script, the next scene was of Junior Frank running away.
Steven had been worried that this scene might be too dramatic, perhaps even melodramatic, thinking that real life seldom carries such tension.
But clearly, he was overthinking it.
Junior Frank just wanted to escape, to get far away from here. He didn't want to choose between his father and mother, nor did he want to face reality. Running away was both an exit and a pause, the only thing he could do.
Steven, too, felt a deep fatigue, an overwhelming weariness.
He also wanted to run, not physically, but mentally, to escape those memories, the ones that had sunk into time and could no longer hurt him. He didn't want to be tied down by them any longer.
But Steven restrained himself and quickly shouted, "Go after him! Don't lose the actor! What are you standing around for? Go!"
Finally, the crew snapped out of it, realizing something had gone wrong.
They looked at each other, clueless about what to do, before rushing out in confusion, their minds filled with scattered questions.
...
Run.
That was the only thought in Anson's mind. No direction, no purpose—he just wanted to get away from there, to breathe fresh air. It was the only way to extinguish the fire burning in his chest.
He ran wildly, losing himself in the motion, like Forrest Gump.
February in New York was still freezing. The cold wind, mixed with biting moisture, slapped his face like a blade, the fine edges piercing his pores and sinking into his veins. When they met the boiling blood, they turned into steaming mist, seeping out again. He could no longer control himself, nor did he need to. He just ran faster and faster, his mind blank.
As he ran, he could leave all his troubles behind and completely clear his mind, no longer needing to think about the mess. All he needed to do was feel the surge of power pushing his body forward, the only thought being to keep going.
Everything became simpler.
Now, Anson finally understood how Forrest Gump felt—
There was nothing to it, just running.
Whether he was Junior Frank or Anson, it no longer mattered because they were both running, escaping, getting far away until those "truths" could no longer hurt them.
It felt like childhood again.
Those innocent years when happiness and joy were so simple, when they didn't even need toys or games, just running. As long as they ran, they could feel the adrenaline, the dopamine, a primal instinct, a habit, releasing their nature and embracing freedom.
He didn't know when that simple happiness became so elusive.
They began searching—money, fame, love, power, and achievements—chasing after them but finding that the more they pursued, the further they drifted from the past. The black hole inside grew, greedily and cruelly swallowing all the joy. Even though they had everything, it could never fill that void.
And then, they started running again.
No goal, no mission, no finish line, just running, not to chase anything, not even happiness, just to run. Let everything return to simplicity, back to childhood, until one moment they no longer wanted to run, and just stopped.
If—just hypothetically—he could run like this all the way, chasing time, back to before he turned eighteen in his past life, could he change everything, stop the tragedy before it happened, and save his family's happiness?
"Run!"
A heart-wrenching scream exploded in Anson's ears, filled with sorrow and despair, twisted by pain and anguish.
Following the sound, Anson's heart sank sharply—
It was a woman, her hair disheveled, face covered in blood, clutching desperately to the thick leg of a burly man. She was using all her strength to hold him back, screaming in utter hopelessness.
The burly man's face was flushed, his eyes glazed over. Even from a distance, the stench of alcohol was overpowering. In his hand, he held a folded leather belt, drool dribbling down onto his round, beer-bellied gut. He kept dragging the woman along as he moved forward, roaring at a figure ahead of him.
"You bastard, I'm going to kill you! Damn it!"
Up ahead, a small, frail figure was running for his life. He was barefoot, his feet covered in wounds and dripping with blood. His whole body was smeared with dirt and blood as he stumbled and staggered, trying to escape. But in the end, he couldn't bear to leave. He stopped, turned around, and witnessed the scene that was now in Anson's view.
"Mom!" The teenage boy, about fifteen or sixteen, cried out in agony.
The woman clung tightly to the man's right leg. "Run, Jack, run! Just run! He won't dare hurt me. Run, as far as you can, don't come back, Jack, don't come back."
The boy took a few steps back but couldn't convince himself to leave, stopping again in his tracks.
Anson quickly glanced around. There were no bystanders or nosy neighbors peeking out, and though a few cars passed by, it seemed no one noticed what was happening here.
Or perhaps, even if they did notice, no one wanted to stop.
Anson quickly searched his pockets but couldn't find his phone. Only then did he remember he hadn't brought it with him—after all, the movie was set thirty years ago, in a time when even telegrams were still in use.
What should he do?
The man suddenly let out a vicious roar, "If you dare run, I'll kill her!"
Before the boy could react, the man grabbed the woman by the hair, raising his massive hand and slapping her brutally across the face, nearly knocking her unconscious. But it didn't end there; the man then started kicking the woman in the stomach, as if he were kicking a burlap sack.
"Run, Jack…run," the woman called out weakly, her voice barely holding on.