Running to No Where

October 16, 2017
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By that night, I was on my way back to the US. My flight left at 9:30, which gave me plenty of time to pack up the essentials and head to the airport. It also bought me time enough to get away without them knowing where I was going. I know they know I’m gone, and they probably also know I’m going back to the states. But it is in plain sight that they will never find me.
I arrive at Stanhope Airport just inside the Canadian border at about 12:15 AM the next morning. Most of the people on my flight were on business from Europe and immediately hopped the lines to their next impending flight. I, on the other hand, hailed a taxi from the airport to the U.S.-Canadian border, where my valid passport got me into New Hampshire in no time. From there, I rented a car all the way home, to Dixville Notch, where I had spent the first 17 years of my life waiting for the first opportunity to get myself out of there.
As I made the hour drive to Dixville, I thought back on all the things I had done since I had left.
I graduated early, just for the sake of getting out of there. Tried going to college, didn’t work out. I lived out of my car for three weeks. During that time I travelled; mostly the west coast, up until that point, I had never been. Finally, one day during that dreadful three week period, I came across an advertisement that was recruiting any college student that was looking to join the FBI. Now, I knew nothing about the FBI, but I did acquire many physical skills that I believed gave me a fighting chance. So, I did what any desperate, broke, living on a sliver of hope, college student would do. I went for it. And believe it or not, I made it. It took months of learning, physical training, and hands-on experiences to shape me into what the agency called, “The best agent we’ve seen in DECADES.” I think that is one of my proudest accomplishments.
I arrive in Dixville Notch, and immediately a rush of emotions flood me. I haven’t been back here in 7 years. Honestly, I never thought I would see it again. It scares me now that I’m back.
Throughout the entire town, or village, rather, it is 25 mph. As I creep down “main street”, I get stares. They don’t welcome many newcomers often. My parents house is the last one on the street. If you couldn’t already tell, everyone lives on main street. I pulled into the drive and shut off the car. My hands are starting to turn clammy and  sweaty and I feel my breathing become shallower. I can’t let myself panic like this. I look up just in time to see the front door slowly open and a man appear in the door frame, the outline of a woman just behind him. This is it, this is the moment that I have avoided for over 7 years.
I get out of the car, having myself as composed as I ever would. I walk up to the open door, my father the first thing I see. I stop, making eye contact with my mother. They both gasp.  I brace for impact.
“Emilia?”






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