I'm ready. The time has come. I'm gonna escape my miserable life. A life without meaning, story, chapters, words. I wish to live a life with words. A life only with words. A life, known by others. A life without pictures, nor sound. Sure, a life with some grammatical errors, but a life of quiet, and peace. A life written in a dark black, soft ink. A life in my journal. A life with words, but for you, a book with words. For both of us, a story with words.
The lamp blinds my eyes, giving me an everlasting patch of black in my eyes whenever I blink.
I turn around checking my clock. 3:16. My mom, dad and little brother must be asleep. A little chance of noticing me. My mom has been changed concerned lately, wondering why I have been spending much time in my room. I have been thinking. Thinking of what would happen with a life of words. What would happen without a life of words. A normal life, one not for me.
I delicately climb out of bed. Although I find it quite difficult multitasking, writing in the thin pages in my journal and doing my normal day things, I'm willing to write for you reader. Your welcome.
I grab my dusty brown backpack filled with some granola bars, some fruit, a bunch of water bottles, some duck tape, lots of clothes and dog supplies.
There was no way Lemon was not coming. Oh yes! Have I not yet explained what is happening? We'll, I guess not because I just reread this page, but if I cross out what I just wrote then it would look unprofessional. Well anyway, I am escaping my house to find a better, quieter life, of words. I'm running away as some would say. A break from a normal life.
I grabbed my backpack, hung it over one of my shoulders. I carefully twisted the golden doornob to the right and stepped out of my bedroom. Each step I took, was a step closer to my freedom. I slowly walked past my brother Clyde's room, next my bathroom with the rip in the curtain, turned to the right, exiting the hall, and my childhood behind, in the kitchen where I wet myself once, twords the small closet where my old clothes are stored. My parents' bedroom close by I snuck over to the front door. Almost silently opening and closing the door, forgetting Lemon.
I walked back inside, my parents sound asleep. Lemon sleeping under the living room table. I shook Lemon on the head, she opened her eyes and wagged her tail to the sight of my tanned face. I grabbed her collar, and attached her leash to it. Thinking she was going for a midnight walk, she walked out the door with me behind, not having a clue she would never come back.
Currently, as I write these words, I sit on a wet sidewalk, about a quarter mile away from my house and put the finishing touches on this journal, and Lemon, the shaggy golden retriever, taking a piss and someone's lawn.
