The Smell Of Spray Paint

One.

I had to confess, I had imagined running away from my family and home to be a bit more glamorous than this.

From the moment that this bad, dangerous idea had wormed itself into my mind; I had pictured a dramatic scene. I had some dumb idea that the train that I was now riding on, in the middle of the night, would be all empty and quiet. Perhaps one or two other riders on it that would be deathly silent, as if their futures were as uncertain as my own, and as if they were also just as scared.

But that isn't at all what I got.

The air in the train's crowded carriage was hot but also damp and gross, the humidity steamed up the windows and even my glasses, so much so that after spending the first hour of the uncomfortable ride furiously wiping them I had given up and shoved them into my pocket.

There was noise too, so much noise. It was mostly talking in foreign languages that I could never even begin to understand. The French, German, Dutch and goodness knows how many other dialects all merged into a loud babble that took away any hopes to get some sleep on this journey.

Somehow I managed to be squashed up against a large business guy; the suit he was wearing was damp from the pouring rain which had only just stopped outside, this added to the muggy, atmosphere in a way that made me feel like I really needed to have a hot shower. There were loud drunk ladies who were probably celebrating something, cuz they were all talking three times louder than they needed to and there were multiple vodka bottles around their general area. Across from me, a mother tried to feed her baby, but the kid was too busy crying.

I tried to shift in my seat into a position that didn't hurt my back, wriggling around in the chair; I thought of a soft warm bed to go to with white linen and clean sheets but knew that right now, that wasn't an option. My eyes stung with the need to sleep and my throat felt tight and dry as I tried (and failed) to reach the side of the backpack that I had brought which held my water bottle.

This was all totally my choice though. It was true, I may have sorta faced a little disillusionment at this part of the journey, but this was something that I had been imagining and counting down to for a long time now. This was the sad cry for attention that I, Matthew Williams, had sunken to.

I sank lower in the seat that seemed to be turning more and more to stone the longer I stayed in it. This was such a terrible, terrible idea... How could I do this to my parents? And my brother would be scarred by the whole thing.

My eyes shut, though I couldn't tell if it was because I just had run out of the energy to hold them open or if I was cringing at how bad I felt.

After a few moments of re-gathering myself and trying to find my courage, I opened my eyes again and leaned forward on my bulky backpack. I had decided a long time ago that I was going to do this, and that wasn't changing now. I had made it this far and there really was no going back. I knew why I was doing this, and thinking back to where this plan to just run off without warning had all come from helped a lot. I was too overlooked back home. I was stepped on and walked over like the door mat of the family, and I was finished taking it. Sick of neighbours forgetting my name and relatives forgetting that I even existed.

Somehow the third time that I had both parents away on a work trip on my birthday had triggered something. I still had the tear stained notebook page that I had written in an angry fury, trying to release my feelings which was in reality the birth of my plan. The plan to run away.

That's why I was here. It was something they couldn't ignore. They'd miss me. Maybe even cry. My face would go on milk cartons and they'd be on the news begging for my safe return. That was the plan.

I didn't hate my parents. They had raised me into a healthy seventeen year old; I didn't smoke, do drugs or have sex. I had good friends who were more likely to take me to a chess club than a nightclub and my grades weren't amazing but could see me to a college. They had just pushed me to a breaking point. I was starved of attention. Now I was going to make sure I got it.