Should I Write More?

No matter how long I run, no matter how far I go, my problems always seem to catch up with me. Whenever I stop, for even a night, a break, a breath, they get closer. I’ve spent my whole life running from my past. I’ll never know when, if at all, I’ll stop running. I want an escape but there will never be one. I wish I could stop, but if I do I will suffer the consequences. I can never stop running, never.

“You’ll never understand the trouble I’ve been in,” Rona yelled at me, “there’s nothing you can do to fix this!”

“You’ll never know if you don’t give me a chance,” I yelled back.

“You don’t get a chance, this is my problem, not yours!”

“At least tell me what happened.”

Rona turned and walked closer to me until her nose was an inch away from mine, and looked me right in my eye. “I have been running from my past, my problems, all my life. I’ve done things that I wish I’d never done. There is nothing I can tell you that someone else can’t” she spun on her heel and started to storm off.

“How long have you been running?”

Rona turned around and looked me in the eye, her face looked sad and old, “ten years. I’ve been running since I was twelve.”

A Random Drabble

I’ve spent my whole life running, always running, never stopping. I’ve never known what I’m running from, the law, an old friend, a relative? I’ve ran with my dad, wherever he went, I went. It’s still that way; it will always be that way.  We scrounge for money because my dad doesn’t have a job. I want to stop, settle down, buy a house, make some permanent friends, get a real education, but my dad says it isn’t safe. He says something bad would happen. I’m only twelve, I don’t want to die, I don’t want Daddy to die either.