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Runaway

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Pain. Unbearable pain. It’s always present. No matter how far I run. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight. It’s always there, slowly killing me. When I feel as if it has finally given up, left me alone, it comes back with a vengeance. Telling me, showing me, that I would never escape it. It was a part of me now; I would never be able to hide from it. But I carry on anyway, living each day as normally as I could. But when I return home, the ‘real’ world comes crashing on me, suffocating me with its lies and deceitful acts and words.

I had given up, knowing that despite how much I protested and begged, it would happen anyway. The pain would engulf me, making me wish that I were dead, better yet, never born. But I refused to end my life; it would just prove to them they had won. When I was younger, I used to question them, protest against their actions, and beg for them to stop. But I learned rather quickly that doing these things just caused more pain instead of taking it away.

But tonight was the night that I would finally become free, finally be away from all the hurt and fake smiles. I would be alone at last, be able to make my own decisions. I would no longer have to fear for my life and hide the bruises and cuts from prying eyes. I could have friends over without being afraid of what they might see. I could get a boyfriend and not have to flinch every time he touched me. Life was finally looking up.

My duffel bag was packed with the few articles of clothing I had and the little trinkets from my childhood that I felt weren’t completely worthless. It was hiding under my bed, waiting for the perfect day to come out. They weren’t suspicious in the least, and that’s why they unknowingly gave me the perfect opportunity to runaway.

They were going to another party tonight which meant that they wouldn’t be back until two o’clock A.M. at the earliest. I slipped away after dinner and headed to my bedroom, pretending to be tired. I laid there until I heard the front door shutting and the squeal of the tires as they raced out the driveway, anxious to get to the party.

Getting off my bed, I reached under it and grabbed my black duffel bag. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the ‘emergency’ money, which added up to at least 300, and walked out the back door. After making sure that the door was securely locked, I turned around and headed down the street.

I couldn’t bring myself to be remorseful or feel guilty for leaving them. If they had wanted me, they should have show me that with hugs and kisses instead of slaps and hateful words. The can live without me, for I was no more than their personal punching bag. But I no longer cared about my past; it was time to think about my tough yet bright future.
It was my time now. My turn to live my life the way I wanted to and I’d be damned if I let them get in my way again. And later that night, while laying under the stars, I said my last few words to them.

“Goodbye, Mom and Dad. I hope you get what’s coming to you.”



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HCReingold said...
Sept. 3, 2010 at 12:44 pm:
That sounds like what I plan to do...
 
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