Running

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The cold air rushes through my long, dirty blonde, naturally straight, hair. I'm running, running as fast as I can. The cold chill of a late October night pricks at my skin making it rise up in little bumps. I'm running past houses where people sleep warm and cozy in their beds, or staying up reading a good book, or watching the best movie they've ever watched. While I'm running, running, and still running. I need to get out of this place. I need to go somewhere where I won't be bothered. Somewhere, where I can kill myself, in peace.

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