Runaway [l.h.]

one

It is scientifically proven that the speed of light travels faster than the speed of sound. That's why you see the fireworks before you can feel the tremendous boom, rattling your whole body, making you feel as if your heart could burst out of your chest at any moment.

In Floral City, Florida- the small town that has the unfortunate job of holding me captive, or rather, being the place of my mere existence- it's tradition that on the second Tuesday of each month, a firework show is held in one of the many large fields. Always the same spot, I drive my dad's old red, beaten-up Mustang the 15 minutes to the seemingly endless grass platform each time.

Like always, the engine sputtered to life as I slid the key into the ignition and turned it away from my body. I pressed one of my chipped nail painted fingers to a button on the stereo system, powering on the pre-set classic rock station, and an old rock song that I didn't know too well flooded my ears. It was pure euphoria, sending me into the feeling that a natural high was consuming my sense.

Easing backwards out of the driveway, I drove with the air conditioning cranked up to its highest level, drying the sweat that stuck my clothes to my body.

For a moment I regretted wearing a long sleeve plaid shirt, but as I shifted the gears from reverse to drive and accelerated down to the stop sign at the end of the street, I remembered that this was Daniel's favorite shirt on me, especially when paired with my skimpy denims shorts. Not that it would matter much when my clothes were scattered across his bedroom floor, but my wardrobe choice for today would certainly assist in getting me to that point.

I tapped the brake, stopped briefly, and fished for a Marlboro pack in the center console. Feeling the familiar case underneath my hand, I pulled it out and slipped a single cigarette between my middle finger and index finger. I lit the end, tossing the pack into the passenger's seat and placing the lighter in my back pocket.

I pressed my faded black Vans to the gas pedal once again and took off towards the fireworks, one hand grasping the steering wheel firmly, the other just draped over the top of it, holding on loosely to my cigarette.

-

I parked on a dirt path, leaving a short five minute walk to where everyone was gathered to watch the fireworks. I would have parked closer, but it seemed that most people had arrived much earlier today.

The sun was just beginning to set as I turned off the car. Before opening the door, I reached across the center console, snatching up the pack of cigarettes quickly and tucking them inside the waistband of my shorts, hidden by my flannel. I exited the vehicle quickly, being sure to lock the door after it was closed.

Instead of walking towards the field, though, I pressed my back against the driver's side, admiring the marvelous glow of the pink and orange sky. My eyes were shielded behind a pair of large sunglasses that, when I wore, my brother decided to inform me I looked like a bug.

I finished off my cigarette quickly, not being able to actually inhale as much smoke as I would have liked to while driving.

Once only the bud was remaining, I dropped it into the dirt and crushed it beneath the sole of my shoe. I removed yet another smoke from the case and slipped it between my lips. After I lit the end with the lighter in my back pocket, I returned them back to their original spot in my shorts.

Outlined by the glorious light, I noticed Daniel walking towards me. I ran my hand through my dark hair messily, pushing my part further than I usually wore it. He sighed heavily before speaking.

"Hey," he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. I watched as his eyes grazed over my body.

"Hey." I stepped closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, him holding my waist.