The Freedom Runners

Just a little taste of what I’ve been working on for National Novel Writing Month…don’t judge, it hasn’t been edited. It’s my work in its rawest form.

The sun beat down on my shoulders sucking new freckles to the surface. The smell of tar was thick as heat rose from the road. My mind wanders from the cute boy I saw at Pharmacy last week, to the hunger pangs in my stomach. I was supposed to go directly home after school, but I couldn’t bring myself to face my parents relentless arguing again. So instead, I decided to go on an adventure. There was a hint of an opening to a very overgrown dirt path off of old McConnell Road. For months I had been eye−balling it on my way home from school. Today I would find out where it went. Overgrown grass, vines and branches try to detour my journey, but I push through. A dirt path ran along a small creek. I stop long enough to watch small silver fish do their best to swim against the current. Trees provide shade to cool my skin. I remembered reading about trails such as these in my recreational books. They were referred to as hiking trails.

The deeper into the path and woods I went, the further my mind drifted from reality. Here I was able to forget about my parents and their childish behavior toward one another. And here there were no Assistants breathing down your neck watching your every move. As soon as all of these thoughts brought me rest, a rush of worry followed them. What would the consequences be if I were caught here, wandering with no reason. In that moment I decided it was time to turn back and head home. I started to follow my previous footsteps back and saw something to my right in the distance. A small stone building. Curiosity got the best of me, as it always does, so I gave myself five minutes to explore further. Everything came clearer into view upon approach. In front of me stood a small building made of wood and large gray stones. You only saw something like this in history books at school these days. Everything in the Cities was white, man−made, and uniform. Sterile.

The garden around back brandished a short wooden fence. A small, simple shed stood adjacent from the fence. Someone must live here. I approached the garden and spotted the biggest, reddest, most tempting strawberries I had ever seen! My stomach gurgled at the sight. I had to have one. Just one, I thought. I bent down and plucked one from the vine. Its flavor was like nothing I had ever tasted before. Sweet, with melodies of earth swirled in. I reached for another. A loud crack caused me to jump. I swirled around and around and saw nothing.  I heard it again. It was time to leave. Not before grabbing a few more berries though. I heard the cracking sound again. I moved away as fast as I could from the stone building. Along the path with the creek. Crack! My pace quickened as the cracking sound finally began to fade behind me. The wind whistled past my ears and my heart was beating against my ribs. The wind whipped my hair like reigns on my back. I felt…alive. I looked down as each foot moved swiftly, one in front of the other. That was the first time I ever ran. I was 15.