On the Run

Chapter 1: Escape

The sun is hot on my skin. I feel the sweat slowly drip down my neck. I look left then right before crossing the road. My shoes grip the asphalt as I sprint to the other side. My follower right behind me.

"Hey wait" they called out to me, but I keep running. That was all I can do. I can't go back to that place. I shiver at the thought of going back. I turn down a street ally and hide behind a dumpster. I listen for footsteps but don't hear any.

"Amy, come on out. I just want to talk", the "social worker" said. My blood froze when I heard his deep, raspy voice. I try to breathe as quietly as I can. If he finds me, he will punish me. It has happened before. The footsteps stop right in front of where I am hiding. I cover my mouth my hand, afraid that my heavy breathing is going to give me away. I close my eyes and begin to count to ten.

One... two... three... four...

"Amy"

Five... six...

The footsteps disappear towards the entrance of the ally.

Seven... eight...

"Damn it Amy. You win this time, but I will find you" he promises before heading in the direction we came from.

Nine... ten.

I let out a sigh of relief. I wipe my eyes not realizing that I began to cry. My heart was still racing. I was free... for now. I took my backpack off my back and opened it up. I began to sift through what little belongings I have. I need to find my wallet. As I reach my hand farther down into my backpack, my fingers graze something metal.

The gun.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath suppressing the awful memories that begin to creep up.

Where is my damn wallet?!

I pull my arm out, feeling frustrated. I know I put it in my backpack somewhere. It was the last thing I grabbed before he showed up. I unzip one of the smaller pockets hoping it was there. To my relief it is. I unzip the light blue leather wallet to reveal the $700 that I have been saving. I shove it back into the backpack and slip it onto my back. I stand up and exit from my hiding spot. I walk towards the train station. I need to get out of here fast. But first, I need to go to the store.

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As I walk into the small grocery store, the lady at the checkout stands smiles at me. I smile back and keep walking feeling her eyes on my back. I find the hair products aisle and stop in front of the shelves of little boxes. If I am going to go unnoticed, I need to color and cut my hair. My brown hair stops at the small my back. The little kids at the home call me Pocahontas because of how long it is and that is the only movie they ever want to watch. My eyes start to tear up at the thought of leaving them behind. I shake my head to get rid of any thoughts of that place. I look at the boxes more carefully.

Do I go blonde or red?

I chose to go red. I grab the first red hair dye box and move onto the makeup. I am not one to wear makeup so I grab the first black eye liner and mascara that I see. I walk towards the end of the ailse and see a stand with school supplies. I grab a pair of scissors and a package containing two sharpies. I walk up to the checkout and the lady that greeted me begins to ring up my items.

"Do you know where I could find the closest thrift store?", I ask. I should probably get some more clothes. All I have is the clothes that I am wearing and a sweatshirt in my backpack. And I need something to match my new look. 

"Actually, Miss, there is one next door. Your total for today is $25.07."

I pull out my wallet and hand her $30. I bag my items while she gets my change.

"Thanks for shopping with us. Have a good day." 

I smile at her and leave. I have to hurry, the longer I stay here the greater the risk of getting caught. I enter the thrift store and a bell chimes. An older lady calls out from the back and welcomes me. I head towards the bottoms. I begin to swift through the shorts. I find a pair of plain blue denim shorts that are a size 27. I take them hoping that they will fit me. I hate shopping mostly because there is never anything that really stands out to me. I'm not a huge fan of designs; I like plain and simple.

I move onto the shirts. As I am quickly scanning the two racks of tops, I see a black t-shirt and a white one next to it. I grab the two shirts and make my way to the counter. I notice a bookshelf full of used books. I stop and look but one caught my attention. It was a paperback of Huckleberry Finn. I grabbed it and head towards the counter again. When I get there, the old lady is nowhere in sight. I look around the tiny shop.

"Going somewhere?" someone asks. I jumped and turn to see the lady behind the counter; my heart racing. She is wearing a look of concern as she calculates the total of my purchase.

"Yeah, it's time for me to move on from this town" I reply. The paranoia of being followed is at its high. My heart is still racing from her scarring me. I want to look over my shoulder and check if I am being followed but I have a feeling I will be questioned by grandma.

"I have something that would benefit you" she says while disappearing into the back. I take the opportunity to look around and check my surroundings. No one is in sight and I sigh in relief. I begin to tap my fingers on the counter waiting for her to come back. She reappears with a leather journal. 

"It's unused but, I have a feeling that you can benefit from it more than I can" she places it on top of the clothes and book. I hand her the money for my stuff and stuff them into my backpack along with the grocery bag containing my new look. She hands me my change and I thank her before leaving.

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The train station is packed full of people. I make my way to the ticket booth and I keep looking around for him. I purchase a ticket from Pasadena, CA to Portland, OR. As much as I love southern California, I need a change in pace. I have always wanted to go to Oregon and I love the weather there.

It is time for us to board and I take my seat at the window. There is ten more minutes until we leave the station. I hope that I don't get stuck next to someone annoying. I really dislike when people begin to talk about their life story and then ask about mine. I can't talk about my life. It is emotionally too much for me to handle.

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