Page 32 of Mason

Where the fuck am I?

I don’t know which way to run, with both the left and right seeming equally desolate, but I don’t have time to sit around thinking about it, so I launch off the porch and into the brush, heading right and praying it’ll take me to civilization quickly.

The plants are cold, wet, and long-past dead, scratching at my skin as my feet sink into the forest floor. I know I’m leaving footprints, but hope the rain will cover them before anyone comes poking around. If I have any luck at all, they won’t for days. There’s a good chance, seeing that they’ve ignored me this long.

The cold burns with every step and amplifies to sharp pain as I stumble into a thicket of thorns that scrape my bare calves. I look around, hoping to avoid them, but it’s useless. They stand between me and getting away. The stranger’s coat hangs past my knees, only protecting me so much, but I keep going. Soon the barbs sink into my feet and deliver a hot, searing bite that takes my breath away.

I cry out but refuse to slow.

I can’t stop.

I’ll literally run until my feet fall off. I don’t care. I won’t go back there. I need to put as much space between me and that cabin as physically possible. If anyone catches me now, I’m done for.

The underbrush is thick, tearing at my exposed skin. I keep my eyes on the distance, hopeful that a road will come into view as I plow through. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the warmth on my face, the salty brine of tears meeting my lips. I beg the cold to take over, to numb the pain.

This is my only chance.

The trickle of the wet from above and the thumping of my heart fill my ears, the steady beat urging me to keep going even as my feet demand I stop the constant torture.

Nothing but thick forest lies ahead, and as I run, happiness rushes through me to join the pure adrenaline of the escape.

But deep inside, a tiny piece of me breaks.

I know I’m running right back into the cage I was so desperate to flee.

And Papa will never let me out now.

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