Running From Reality

Her sneakers slapped the pavement as she ran, creating a rhythm that was familiar to her. Running was the one thing that was hers in life; no one else had any say in it. It was all hers.

Some people cry, or write, when they need an escape from a never ending nightmare, but not her.

It was amazing how well she knew the road on which she was running. Which potholes were filled with water from the light rain that was falling, which tree branches were high enough to run under, and where the road intersected with other roads that were just as worn from various vehicles and weather.

This was her home. Not the house where her “perfect family” lived. That place could never be considered home, just a house.

She could keep running all day without becoming tired enough to stop, but she could see the sun rising to her left. Time to go back, she thought silently to herself.

Without breaking the rhythm of her feet, she turned and headed back to the place she least wanted to be. The place most would love to call home, while she simply wanted to escape it forever and dive deep into the forest, running forever.

Running from her reality.