I'm on the lam. I'm a runaway. I like running away.
The first time I ran away, I was eleven. I stayed in that park for four hours. Then I came home. Nobody noticed I had even left.
Since then, I've run away from bad test grades and people calling me a bitch. I've run away from awkward situations, and I've run away from creeps, people walking too quickly behind me to have anything other than murder on their mind.
But I've never run away from home. I've driven away from home, mad and tipsy and vengeful and stupid. But I've never set out on foot like I did when I was eleven. Now that there are cell phones and people always can reach you, what's the point?
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