Hi, people.  I’m writing a book right now.  I’ve gotten about 16 pages done — aren’t you proud?  Here’s a chapter.  Hopefully you can read all of them next year, maybe even in a published book.

 

8-

I am running.

Footfall after footfall, the black street disappears behind me as a I fly through the night.

Out of breath, I whip my head around. They are still following me, almost about to catch me.

The game soon becomes a chase, similar to how a cheetah chases a gazelle.

I hop over logs, stumbling but righting my balance. I launch forward onto my hands and swing my legs up and over my body. This sets them off a few paces.

I continue running.

This is true freedom.

Fighting for my survival, fighting to win, to be safe. The wind passes through my hair and keeps it upright behind me.

I do not slow down.

They are laughing, stumbling, trying to catch up. We are all full of pancakes, bacon, eggs. It is slowing them down.

I keep going, ignoring the sharp pain in the bottom of my stomach.

I turn a corner, taking it like a race car, slanting so far down that I am almost parallel to the grass on the side of the street.

I am aware of everything around me – the gas station on the corner, the yogurt store across from it, the three boys behind me, my white converse hitting the ground.

I am exhilarated.