A world he never made
Run.
He wasn't even sure what he was running from, or to. It never mattered.
Run.
To run was to exist. To remember... something. Even if the images came in flashes and flickers.
RUN
He pushed, faster and faster, harder and harder, lightning crackling around him as he went. It didn't matter that his whole world was red-tinged shadows and ghosts of a life. To run was to live, to be.
RUN!
He pushed a little harder, moving at the wall that always turned him back. As he approached it, as always, he saw the most real images, every time he approached, he briefly felt something other than speed. He saw people, places, faces he knew that he remembered, somehow. But it always turned him back, even if it looked clear, like he should be able to pass right through it.
RUN!!
Not today. Faster, he had to go faster. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and ran for the wall for all he was worth.

And then there was light, and gravity, and colors that weren't red and lightning. And there were walls.

All of it was startling. The light hurt his eyes, the sudden pull of gravity made his steps feel heavy and slow. A sudden awareness of a heartbeat threw off any rhythm he might have had. But despite it all, the wall was what hurt most of all. The one he hit at a high rate of speed after tripping over the edge of a tub, tearing through a shower curtain, which he's now wearing - only thing he's wearing, he half-realizes. The porcelain wall is full of cracks, and while he's as immune to heat as ever, he's smoking faintly, as he sits in someone's bathtub.

"Ow!"