OYM Day 33: Poor Girl, Rising Sun

I’m 1/3 of the way through my 100 day challenge. It’s wild to me, but also an exhausting thought at the same time. Im proud for sticking with it and not missing a day. I’m proud of what I’ve talked about. I’m proud of of a lot of what I’ve written. I had no clue how much I needed this and how capable I really am. Only 67 days to go….. yikes.

With that said, I want to take a stab at a fiction piece. So far, every other story I’ve written is true. Fiction puts me out of my comfort zone. And as they say, that’s where the growth happens.

Here is part 1 of 3. Enjoy.

PART 1:

I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked straight ahead. The dust settled and I could see the highway lights blinking rapidly in the distance, the wad of cash in my chest pocket burning hot like charcoal. I palmed my knife and started walking. The sun would be up soon and I had a lot of ground to cover. I was 9.

My jacket smelled like cigarettes and the daisy patch on the right breast pocket had turned gray with sweat and dirt. I wore my pink tennis shoes that were best for killing bees on my driveway but were now best for running away, fast. My thick short hair barely fit behind tucked ears and I wish I hadn’t cut it. But he would have seen me otherwise. It’ll grow back.

I ducked around the back of the gas station, avoiding the lights swarming with moths. I imagined what was worse… being the light to the moths or the young child to the truckers. A toss up for sure. The back of the building smelled like piss and fresh bread. I walked faster to the trees lining the highway. They were calling me and I knew I’d be safe from him there. He would be on foot. I had his keys and there’s no way he could get behind the wheel right now. The tree roots and darkness would slow him down. Or maybe he’d trip on a drain pipe and hit his head. I closed my eyes tight and wished.

I thought of my mother. She was in those woods. Waiting for me. And I would run to her. I wouldn’t find her, of course. She’s been missing for 2 years. And I had already searched those woods a hundred times. But I felt her there in the emptiness ahead. She was in the air, not the mud.

Where was he hiding her? I immediately wonder if she’s still alive, a reflex, but I already know the answer. I feel each foot hit the ground, but my body is on autopilot. Adrenaline and oxygen doing their part. I am just the observer.

“We’ve got to get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do”… the song rang from a pickup truck at the gas station. I ran faster. I knew he was coming.