Runaway

I just wanted to yell, scream, cry and bitch to God a little for the first few hours. I had walked into the Alabama countryside and found and old hunting cabin. I sat in the corner of the room and held my head in my hands.
My screams were because of the way my parents treated me.
The tears were that I, most likely, had lost my best and only friend due to how her parents thought of me.
However, most of the streams were because of how I felt about myself . What was I? Not a “who” as my parents always treated me as something different and allowed the rest of the world to throw proverbial peanuts at me. I was young, but I knew what could happen to me…I would fail “to pass” to the rest of the world and I was unsure if I could ever stand up for myself against their stares and grimaces.
“Why did you make me like this!” I shouted to the ceiling. “You never came to help me! Not with Dad, not my sister or with John!”
I stood up and slammed my hand against the wall; it and the ceiling rattled a little bit, so it wasn’t a good idea to take my frustrations out on the poor building.

I admit, I didn’t think about the future. I didn’t think about how I would survive, because, in a way, I didn’t want to survive. It was easier to give in to the desperation and the wishful feelings of just turning my soul off and allow my ugly shell to rot away in a race to see which one would turn to dust faster: myself or that shack.

“Just strike me down!” I yelled as I slammed my knees to the floor. “Kill me now! What are you waiting for? I’m ready! I’ve been ready for years.”

The times of trying to drown myself in a tub—only to have my lungs force me to the surface. The thought of jumping off the highest point in Autugua county, only to chicken out and scream at myself for not doing it.

I contorted my body on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. “Do it! Bring down the lightning! Swallow me up! I can’t seem to do it myself…but you can. Please!”

It wasn’t a request-more like a demand. Yeah, I demanded death. I wanted the damn grim reaper to come down and strike me down at that moment.

Why not?
I didn’t like me
My parents didn’t like me.
The world would never like me for who I was.

“They’ll laugh and then laugh some more. Kicking me down,” I whispered to the darkness. “You’re not going to let me die, are you? You’re just going to let me live like this? Forever! Let my family forever berate me. They’ll be that little voice in my ear. Grow up, Taylor. Be a man, Taylor. You messed up our lives, Taylor!”

I stood up and walked outside the cabin. It was cold. It was very cold for that time of mother year.

“You’re always messing up something, Taylor!” I shouted to the moon. “Yeah, I know, Dad. But, hey, it’s our way and I learned it all from you!”

I looked back to the cabin and pondered if I should stay for the night. Either that, or set it on fire. I’d stay warm at least. I shook my head and started walking by the moonlight. I tried to not let the cold get to me and I did for the most part as I was too busy over-thinking what I was going to do with my life. Maybe I could find my sister or maybe I could find a million dollars.
Either way, I wanted to forget about it all and just run away.
Just to laugh so hard until my sides hurt.

And by then, my sides were hurting, as my lungs were screaming in agony form the cold air. I sat down on the side of the road and then threw myself onto my back.

Maybe it was good to be jaded.
Maybe it was a great thing to feel cold-blooded.

“I can stay in the country. I can hide out in houses if I have to. Winter’s not cold here.”

Which was true, if one was in a house with central heat or a roaring fireplace. There was plenty of wood around. It was a bit too late to think about maybe gathering some kindle and lighting a fire near the cabin.

“No, then they’d find you,” I thought aloud. “Then its either back to the asylum that was home or to juvenile.” I shivered slightly as wind blew. “Nope. Not going.”

I stood back up and walked on the side of the road. Sometimes lights appeared in the distance and I would do my best to run into the thicket on the sides. It was easier to guide to somewhere—anywhere—by using the roads then to blindly trudge through the woods.
True, a car could see me, stop and search or contact the police—assuming they thought I WAS a person and not a mini Sasquatch.

Maybe I could find my sister?
She lived somewhere in town.
But where?