Dear lord! Save me while you can! I'm running through the woods. My heart's racing. It's getting dark. I can't see a thing! Why the hell did I put myself through this? I just wanted to get loose while in the whistle forest, but I had to be so stupid! I dropped my cigarette onto the weeping grass causing a fire to start. I'm running for my life now. I'm running from the havoc I've caused.
Once I get out of the woods my head is pounding like a hammer against a nail; so hard and aching. I can feel my brain pounding against my skull. It hurts excruciatingly. Why couldn't I have just been a normal kid and not run away from home? Most kids love their parents, they adore them. I ran away from mine. I had to get away. It was too hard to deal with them. All the trauma, oh the trauma. Thinking about it makes me sick.
I collapse to the ground. My hands reach up to the sides of my head. My hands brush into my long, black silky hair. They squeeze and squeeze until there's nothing left to squeeze. My hands get too tired to strangle the headache away.
I feel something behind my eyelid, wet and moist. A tear. Please, please don't cry now. You'll be a weakling if you cry now! My inner thoughts scream and shout, yet the tears still come out. They leak through my tear duct, down my blood-flushed cheeks. The cold, salty tears feel nice against the heated condition I'm in. Though, my thoughts reject the tears, my body feels relieved they're coming out. I've been holding it all in for too, too long. It's been six years.
I've let myself come to this condition, now I need to break myself back down. I need to find myself again.
Who am I? What am I? The questions circle my head. They make the hammer pound harder and harder, until it feels like my brain is going to come leaking out of my ears. It's not a normal hammer though. The hammer is made of my inner thoughts. Those deep, dark ones you swore to never tell a soul.
My back becomes heated, burning. I look behind me. The tears blur my vision. I have to wipe my tears to see the flames. The fire has reached the break of the forest. It's spreading wildly through the dying grass. It's getting closer and closer until I'm face to face with it. I'm staring the fire down, in shock. Why won't my body listen to my mind? I just need to run, but I'm in shock. I can't move. God! I wish mom was here! She'd save me from this wreck I've created.
No, don't go crying to mommy about your poor little problems. You'd only be more of a puss if you ran right back into mommy's arms, wouldn't you?
The thoughts break me out of my stillness. I stand up, turn from the scorching fire and run. I can feel the wind breeze past my ears, lifting my hair off my neck. Anyone else would feel freedom in this moment, but I'm running for my life. I feel anything but freedom right now. It hurts to breathe, but I have to keep running. My lungs are taking a heavy hit, bracing me for what's to come.
I get far enough away from the fire that I feel safe, but not safe enough. It's just enough distance that I can take a breath. I put my hands on my knees, leaning over the cold grass. My bare feet are dirty, as the grass peaks through my toes.
I'm gasping for air. I'm definitely not a runner. My legs and lungs weren't made to run that fast. I wasn't prepared to run for my life either. I guess I have to start preparing myself for running my life more. I chuckle to myself, causing my lungs to struggle. I cough up stomach acid and saliva. It's a disgusting feeling and taste. It's sour and almost spikey. It's a piercing feeling, nonetheless.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I pant. My chest lowers and rises quickly with every breath. My lungs are in pain. It's agonizing! I need this pain to stop, but how? I don't know how to stop this pain. My lungs are suffering.
I finally remember to start taking deeper breaths. I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air circulate around my lungs and through my system. It comes out through a long, heavy exhale. It comes in cold, but leaves warm as the old air leaves my body. I focus on my deep breathing for a few minutes, and sit down on the grass. I stare at the mess I created. I'm starting to hear sirens. Shit! I get up and start running again. Someone called the fire department! I don't want to get caught for this crime, so I'm running. I'm running from my problems, like everyone tells us not to do. I hide behind a trailer in the field, watching from behind.
The fire truck pulls up, and the firemen are filing out. They pull out their hose quickly, connecting it to their water source and spray at the wildfire.
The guilt of this horrific scene floods my body, but I can't look away. The fire is mesmerizing. The fire licks the air wildly, as my blue eyes stare into the flames. Why do the men have to put out my enchanting work? It was so beautiful.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn't be thinking that! I hit myself in the head, and curse to myself as a punishment. I can't be that psycho, can I?
You sure can be...
I scream and continue to beat myself. Those sneaky inner thoughts always sneak in.
