The Girl on the Stump

The Woods

I pushed another branch out of my face. I knew these woods like the back of my hand; I came out here and walked through them every time my parents got into a fight, which was every day now, and I always walked alone. Always. My world is a simple one: Mom and Dad fight constantly while I find some way to sneak out into my wooden hideout. There was an endless amount of escape routes: the second-story bay window, the garage door, back door, etc., but they all led to something i so desperately craved: freedom, quiet, escape. It wasn't far away, either, just a few feet behind the house.

Another branch scraped my cheek before I had the chance to push it out of the way.

I knew where I was going. There was a stump about a mile or so back, which was my resting place, my point of serenity. Being alone was just something that I was used to; I left the house after Mom and Dad had gone to work, walked home alone, left when the argument started and ran into the woods to get away.

Always alone.

I saw the familiar trees, unknown to anyone else, but brighter than the North Star to me. I finally reached the tree stump, relieved to finally have peace, at least for a while.

Someone had beaten me there.