Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

So, I had the film, Sin City, on the brain when I wrote this:

     He ran. Frightened for his life. He'd never understood the reason for them coming after him.

    "Stop you!" he heard them shout, but he couldn't stop. Oxygen to the brain and he kept running. He kept thinking back to what started this all: the intrusion. 

    But this dread was something different. It was a fear of intrusion into himself rather than an expansion of the world's gaze.

    It was after that first intrusion that he started running. His mind ached for it, very much the way someone with terminal lung cancer ached for a cigarette. He craved the feeling, the air, the movement, of running.

    Turn over please...Mmmm, Very pronounced gluteus maximus. 

    There it was again. The shock. The street signs blurred. The dirt around him kicked up. He heard the sounds of gunfire. The vision of the place, still etched in his mind: red doors. White numbers. With a flash of light he saw it.

    The way the plaster had been teased up into little fronds on the wall, like miniature stalactites.

    It was an astonishing sight for someone like Margoulies, who understood the anatomy of the human body both from within and without. 

      It began to rain now, the water hitting the ground like drumsticks on a snare drum. They filed quietly past, their mission accomplished.