Desperate Lies (Lies 2)

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Can this day get any worse?

My shoulder throbs, reminding me of my bullet wound. Memories flash, reminding me of the rape, the abuse, the child I gave up.

Yes, this day can get a lot worse.

I sit up as I hear more gunfire.

Langston said to run.

No one can move very quickly through this thick brush, but I should start moving faster in case anyone starts following me—mainly Langston.

So I force myself to get up.

I force my legs to run.

And run, and run, and run.

I stop thinking about Langston.

I stop wondering and analyzing his words—trying to determine if he lied or not.

I stop worrying that a stray bullet or misplaced bomb is going to blow me into a million tiny pieces.

I focus on putting one step in front of the other.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until the sun has set.

Until it’s pitch-black outside.

And even then I keep going.

I refuse to be killed.

I refuse to be anyone’s captive.

I refuse to let any man control me.

I take another step.

This step makes all the difference.

I may not be able to see very well, but I don’t hear the crunch of leaves. I don’t have to dodge low hanging limbs. I don’t feel the brush of branches scratching my mud and sweat covered skin.

My feet sink into sand.

Did I take a wrong step toward the beach instead of walking in a straight line to the airport?

Or did I make it?

I take another and another.