Run – A Short Story

I was only five. I remember it like it was yesterday. Unfortunately. I was young, naïve and vulnerable. My hair was a mess from all the running and my face was patterned with dust. I had been running all day, running in the woods. Running from my life, running from myself. But I still ended up on our front porch, I ended up where I started. I was weak and shaky. But she didn’t understand that I was simply fragile.

“Where have you been all day?” she screams. She doesn’t care about me, she doesn’t even know me. She just, She just screams. “Haven’t I told you……..”, her words start trailing off, and all I see are her lips moving. I don’t know what she is saying. She’s been here for exactly 2 years now. Her face being as stern as her actions. Her hair as black as her deepest and darkest thoughts. Her skin as pale as the life and soul she sucked out of me. And I’m just standing there, not understanding anything.

All I felt was a burning on my face, a sudden pain. I was shocked, staring in stark horror. I felt the tears starting to form, my voice trailing off and my stomach retreating into itself. I look up and face her, she stares back in disgust. Why do I feel like time is going so slow? Why do I see these blue strands? This can’t be happening, I cant live this in slow motion. I need this to go faster. Her face turns into a bitter frown. I feel ascetic.

I have to control myself, I have to calm down. This will all be over and done with if I calm down. But every time I try to calm myself down the stinging intensifies. I try to think of all the things that bring serenity. The birds, the wind under my feet when I run. The thoughts in my head when I find peace. None actually help as I look at her face again. Her hand is slowly moving up and approaching my face. This can’t happen again. I can see it coming and my face starts to ache. I feel this sudden rage bubble up inside me and I feel my hand move and clench into a fist. My muscles tense and…….. and I punch her.

Time returns to normal; time is never on my side. Her nose starts to bleed and her eye seems to be turning all shades of purple. That look she gave me and all the secrets hidden behind them. Her eyes and all the lies hidden in their depths. I won’t know any. I know I shouldn’t have done that. My hand throbs in pain and my tears trickle down my face. I am five years old. This couldn’t have just happened. I don’t have any muscles, I can’t punch with that much force. That’s when I feel it.

They aren’t tears; they are streams of blood. That wasn’t a bruise, those were tears. That wasn’t blood; that was rage. I didn’t punch her. I tried to stop her, only making everything worse. I got hit hard; both physically and emotionally. And I did what I was best at. I ran.

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