Walk, Don't Run

Yeah, anyone who was reading this, please dont be mad at me for changing the plot....I had a sudden idea that I just had to replace this one with

I hope you like it!!

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 ***

        To this day I'm not sure what drove me to do it. Anger. Pain. Despair. Or even just pure adrenaline. I just couldn't take it anymore.

        I slid my ticket into the small metallic machine which afterwards, allowed my passage. My footsteps echoed on the marble floor beneath me as I made my way to a staircase. The weight of my hot pink suitcase and black and white checkered Jansport backpack complicating my way of movement.

        I'm not really one of those kinds of people who thinks before doing things. I just think whatever will be best suited for the situation is the right choice. Never do I consider the consequences for my decision. Until, like now; its too late.

        I had already entered the train and taken a seat. There were only a few more seconds before the doors would close and I'd be trapped on this train, alone, at midnight.

        I watched, unsure what I was feeling, as the doors came to a close. I sighed and looked down at my hands, inspecting them. My black nail polish was chipping and my smooth, pale skin contrasted it perfectly.

        I made the right decision leaving. There wasn't anything good for me in that small town outside of Chicago. Now, there were no limitations, no one to hold me back from my true potential and it feels great.

        A small smile crept onto my face as I leaned back in the hard, plastic train seat I was in and fell fast asleep.

 ***

        "Excuse me?" I allowed my eyes to flutter open slowly now that there wasn't anyone to rush me. I looked to my left where a boy about my age was leaning over me.

        "Uh, yeah?" My voice sounded higher than usual.

        "Do you have any idea where this train is headed?" The boy's chlorophyll green eyes penetrated mine. Something about him gave me an indescribable sensation--one I've never experienced before. It was something like one of those things you feel, yet struggle to describe then you read a book and it's trying to describe the exact same feeling but just like you, the author can't seem to wrap it up completely.

        "Sorry, no clue." I shook my head. He shrugged and leaned back in his seat, which just so happened to be next to mine. He began reading a book. One that looked oddly familiar.

        "Is that Shakespeare?" I questioned, unable to hide every ounce of surprise in my unusually girly-girl voice. Not trying to be rude, but he just didn't seem like he fit with Shakespeare plays and fine old-English poetry.

        "Yes?" The boy looked up from the book; slightly aggravated.

        "That's my book!" I pointed accusingly at my copy of Hamlet that was in his fair colored hands.

        "And-?" He rolled his eyes and attempted to continue reading.

        Shocked, I remained still which allowed him to scan his eyes in a distinct movement  across the old, tattered pages. For some reason, I felt slightly self conscious as I wondered what the badly taken care of book showed him about me. I usually wasn't one for money related prejudices but it made me turn a slight pinkish coloring even though he wasn't paying me any attention. Instead I stared at the boy, trying to figure him out. He must have felt my gaze because he squirmed uncomfortably and flickered his eyes upwards towards me.