She laced up her shoes, opened the door, inhaled deeply, and started running. Feet gripping the pavement, legs pushing her forward, tearing through the night, wind whipping and pulling at her hair. Cold air reaching its icy fingers out toward her, making her shiver. But she enjoyed it, let it numb her body, her face, her mind, her emotions. Legs and arms warm from the friction or their movement. Foot up, foot down, foot up, foot down. It created a rhythm in her head, a soothing rhythm, she repeated it mindlessly, drowning out all other thought. Her past flying behind her with her breath as it left her mouth, the wind tearing it and throwing it back to evaporate into nothing. Houses passing in a blur. She craves trees, and stars, and the moon, wants dirt and grass under her feet, desires the crunch of leaves and pine needles with each foot step. Nature instead of this echoing slap of foot against cement.