Discontinued

Motivation

(Name)'s shoes slapped the pavement. She felt her heart pound at racing speeds as she ran to her home. The only safe haven she had left in all of Seoul. For the past few days this had been her routine: finish work and then run home. She was too afraid to be caught outside to think about doing anything else.

Every moment she was outside of her apartment, or her bus she drove for work (Name) felt like eyes were watching her. She was afraid of the owners of those eyes because they had hungry bodies and cruel minds to match fire she felt from their stares. They were hungry for money, and she couldn't deliver.

She reached her home in record time. Eight minutes to run the mile that lied between her work and home. Getting inside her one room apartment she slammed the door shut. She let herself lean and slide down against it. Upon reaching the floor she pulled her knees up to her face. Wrapping them in between her arms, (Name) let a slow stream of tears fall down from her eyes.

She was frustrated and beyond angry with herself. She was twenty-one years old. She was supposed to be an adult who had her whole life ahead of her, but all she could think about was how she screwed it all up. It was all because she was afraid. It was killing her on the inside, and she could feel it begin to kill her on the outside as well. It was all because she was afraid.

She slowly unwrapped her arms from around her knees before slamming her curled fists onto the ground. If she had only known what it was like to have real horrors stare you in the face she then she wouldn't have been so blind to the dangers she ran towards, while trying to get away from the imaginary ones.

(Name) knew this wouldn't fix anything. Her depressed mopping would never undo her mistakes, so she picked up her fists and wiped away any remaining tears. With a push she was lifted up off the ground.

Her tiered legs hauled her towards the couch. It was a rickety old thing that couch with it's worn, red, leather cushions. It was the most comfortable thing in her house, and (Name) found herself sleeping there more often than in her actual bed. When (Name) had first moved out of her parents home, it had been a gift given to her by her mother and father. Even then it had been a bit old. Slight dents could be seen in the cushions from previous occupants. All the same she loved the present. Her parents had set aside a couple of weeks' worth of pay to get it for her.

Unfortunately the happy sentiment that the couch held didn't overshadow her troubles today like it typically would have. (Name) was still drained from the adrenaline rush. She could barely keep her eyes open as the clock's hands hit seven thirty. Letting herself rest (Name) closed her (eye color) eyes, and allowed herself to tip over and land face first into the soft red cushions. With one more exhausted groan she fell fast asleep.