Hell Hound

The wind howled, thunder crackled in the distance, lightening was illuminating the darkened sky. She stuffed her clothes into her bag, tears streaming down her face. She gave one last look to her dingy, old room. A pile of newspapers on the floor with a blanket over it. A bed made for a dog, which is what she had been called numerous times. A small lopsided desk at the other side of the room. A bucket and a rag lay in the corner. She hobbled over to her door. She knew no one would miss her. Her parents, hated her, she was despised. She was doing them all a favour by leaving. She gave on last look at her room. She turned away. Tears streaming down her face. Where was she to go? Anywhere but here, she thought bitterly to herself. She padded down the stairs, not making a sound. She reached the front door and quietly opened it. A storm was brewing, and a nasty one at that. Good, she thought. The rain would wash away her scent. She walked out into night air. The harsh wind was whipping around her sending her long black hair everywhere. Once she reached the cover of the forest she ran. Ran and never looked back. Leaving her old self behind, running away from the hurtful words, bruises and broken bones. She ran, ran for her life in hopes of starting over, starting again. She ran from the only place she had ever known. She ran, the hateful words, fat, ugly, waste of space, dog, weak, no one loves you, those drove her forward, putting a spring in her step. It was them that drover her to insanity, to her breaking point. It was them that put meaning into her step. She didn’t run for them, she ran from herself, her cowardly weak self. She ran for herself, hoping to reaching a better life. So for everything, she ran.