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.
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.