Prose and Poetry

Run

Run

My heart is racing and so am I. Faster, faster. Ignoring the burn of my legs and the fire in my chest. I can't stop running. I am being chased. I can't remember why or by who but all I know is that I can't stop going.

I run into the house, not questioning where it came from or if anybody lives there. All I know is that I need to hide. Bar the windows, lock the doors. Hide. Try to quiet my breathing. My heart is beating so fast that I. Can't. Think.

The pounding grows until it's all I hear and I vaguely wonder if I will die of fright. It grows and grows. It's trying to get it. I curl up and make myself small in the corner of the room. The door breaks. I whimper and scrunch up more, waiting for it to end.

It is quiet. Too quiet. I look up cautiously and am shocked by what I see. The person I have been running from, been terrified of, is me.

-C.O. (10/3/14)