The Trail

The trail, some might describe it as beautiful, fresh, relaxing, not now, not after the incident. It was autumn, the leaves on the trees had turned an auburn red, and many of them had fallen already. The trail was just past a jail; some say that sometimes if you listen closely you can hear the prisoners cry and scream for justice. the trail was also close to an airport; whenever an airplane passed the sound of the rushing creek faded and the whispers of your own thoughts disappeared.

We had walked this trail many times; my mother, sister and I. This time was different. A dense fog filled the air, so thick you could hardly see five feet ahead of where you stood; we were the only people on the trail.

My mother told me to quicken my walking pace, I had had enough nagging for one day. I ran up ahead, a distance my family could not catch up to even if they wanted to. I held back tears from the long hard day I had had.