RUN
A short story
I've got my hands on a bag, and I'm racing around my room cramming stuff into the bag as fast as I possibly can.
Today I'm going to run away.
I've heard about kids who ran away from home. Today, I understand how each of these other kids felt as they sat at a table in the school cafeteria, or in a bedroom at home, or at a friend's house, or looking out a bus window, and decided this was the day to stop talking and start walking.
There's room left in my bag. I'm not sure what I need to take with me, or how long I will be gone. I know I'm not prepared for this.
I have to leave all my favorite things behind, it's hard, but I will.
While I look through my room for my toothbrush, I'm trying not to think about where I will go, or what will happen. I'm thinking of how much better everything is going to be after I leave, after I get away from the drama of life here at home.
I should bring some money. Where can I get money? I'll just have to take some from my parent's room, they won't care, and I won't at least. I deserve that money after everything they've done, its better if I take it. They can't buy drugs with it if I take their money. [L2]
Sneaking the cash was easy to do, mom is passed out and dad is drinking in the living room. Nothing ever changes.
All packed, my dad went to the bathroom singing a song I've never heard, or maybe I just can't understand him. I hurry through the front door before he can get back. I wonder when they will notice I left.
Now I'm standing on the curb in front of my house. My bag is sitting at my feet. A cold wind blows through my shirt. I sort of want to go inside, but the inside I'm use to, is exactly what I'm trying to get away from. I'm setting out to find a new home, another place to be warm. That's what this is all about anyway, to find a better place to be.
Standing out here, I feel sort of brave. My stomach churns with acid. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it, and blood rushes through my body and my head in crazy directions. I feel a little dizzy standing here.
I bet this is how how soldiers feel in war, sitting in a ditch. While Bullets whiz over his head and the soldier knows he's got to jump out of the ditch and scurry across the road. Of course, he's scared; but he's gotta do what he's gotta do. He's got to get to the other side.
This is the kind of bravery that a real hero will admit to, while a TV hero plays it cool like nothing bothers him at all. When it's all over, most real war heroes confess. For a moment, while the bullets were flying through the air, they weren't sure whether they were going to leap out of the ditch and scurry across the road or sit there and pee in their pants.
But I'm not a soldier: no whizzing bullets, no ditch. I'm just this stupid and scrawny kid. And things around me aren't the way they ought to be. They haven't been right for a while. And I'm tired of it. And I'm finally gonna do something about it.
I pick my bag up from the ground, turn, and walk toward the bus station hoping I will know where to go once I get there.
In the large bus station waiting room, people stand around their luggage like small tribes huddled over polyester campfires.
The people who surround me in the ticket line don't look rich, but most of the tickets they're buying cost over a hundred dollars. That doesn't seem very cheap to me. I thought people rode buses because it's cheap. I guess it's cheaper than having a car or taking a plane.
