Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 28, 2004 17:02:43 GMT -8
The Runaway.
Part One.
Your screams are everlasting.
Part One.
Your screams are everlasting.
The yelling, it’s just too much. The timing, it could be better, but sometimes you have to do what you think is right. You have to pick up your life, and place it somewhere else for your safety. In school they teach you running from your fears isn’t the answer—stand up for yourself, but this time, that’s not a choice.
The wind outside blew strands of blonde hair into my face as I walked down the wet pavement. It had been raining all day, and now the sun was coming out—it showed itself right before its bed time. It appeared out of nowhere just to say goodnight. The canvas hat on my head kept me dry from any sudden sprinkles from the trees encasing the air above me. They weeped sorrows with me, or were crying from the laughter of my pain.
Either way, I wasn't alone.
It was a bit cold, but I made sure to bundle up; one sweatshirt, a long sleeved shirt, a wife beater, two pairs of socks, and pants. I was set until it began to rain again. Then I’d have to find shelter. Then I’d start worrying. Maybe then I'd find my way back home.
I only grabbed whatever amount of money was in the box, maybe fifty dollars—if I was lucky. It wouldn’t last me very long, but it would get me far enough until they found me. By now, they had to be looking. The cops were probably phoned. My friends were out in their neighborhoods searching for me.
I was like a prized jewel, stolen from the safest vault.
I stopped when I eyed the end of the sidewalk. Cars whizzed through the intersection. My attention was brought to the sky. I never really saw the beauty of the pinks and oranges as the sun fell beyond the clouds, just above the roof tops. The colors streaked together like they’d been dragged with a paint brush, stroked to perfection. I got lost in the water colors that sat in the sky, but I was booted out of my fantasies by a loud horn. I didn’t know people had a fear of looking at art work.
The soles of my tattered sneakers carried me across the intersection, to the other side. The sun was almost asleep; the skies were turning black, and all of the little children were being carried away indoors to be protected from prowlers. Tiny speckles flickered in the sky as I wrapped my arms around myself.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe they won’t find me.
I couldn’t help but look behind me now and again. I kept hearing footsteps splashing in the puddles around me. It’s all a figure of my imagination, trying to tear me apart limb by limb. My body wants to return to the warmth of home, but my mind is feeling otherwise.
I can’t go back. Not now. These bruises have yet to heal. My shattered dreams have yet to be mended.
