A Year of Stories (Collection Two)

Why I Left Home

Dear Mom and Dad,

If you're reading this, you may have noticed that I've run away.

I know, big surprise right?

I was a little surprised too, I kept asking myself whether I really wanted to go through with it. It sounded like the sort of stunt that Marjorie or James might pull, it's just so...dramatic.

By the way, tell Marjorie, "Good bye," for me, would you? I should have probably said something to her before I left, but that would risk giving myself away now, wouldn't it? As for James, he can go drown in a creek for all I care.

I'm sorry...that's mean.

OK. Before you do anything too crazy, know that I'm fine. Really. I've been planning this for, well, it seems like years. It's a little embarrassing to admit that. I feel like most people wouldn't take this long to finally pick up and leave, but I just wasn't brave enough, and you might be surprised at how many details you have to get just right when you're trying to run away properly.

It took me three months just to save up enough allowance to pay for the bus ticket, and you don't want to know how long it took for the hotel.

Don't worry though – I brought clean cloths, a fresh toothbrush, and enough ammunition to make sure I don't starve to death.

You see, I was listening.

At this point you may be asking yourself why I left.

In fact, I know you're asking yourself why I left...with tears in your eyes.

I think that's one of the reasons this took so long, I didn't know how to explain. I didn't want you to think I'm some ingrate like James, using you for a bed and a few hot meals a day. I honestly believe that both of you are the finest, most diligent parents ever to take up the mantle.

It's one of your greatest strengths, but I think it's also made you over protective.

While I was picking the lock to my cell with the chicken bone I'd secreted away from last Sunday's Brunch, I realized that was what was really bothering me.

Both of you have spent the last thirty years keeping us kids secure and protected inside the walls of the compound. You've provided us with everything a child could ever want. We were never without a firm mattress to lay our heads, or a strong hand to teach us discipline. You even gave us the gift of purpose, allowing us to work the land and tend the herds and help produce the food that fills our bellies each day.

I'll never forget that sweltering afternoon last August, when I'd taken a fall and sprained my ankle out by the North Hill. Pa was right there, telling me it would OK, that I could cut my shift in half and come back to the main house at sun down.

I cried that night, knowing how difficult it must have been for both of you to allow me to shirk my duties.

Family over all, you and mom taught me that.

I think that's when I realized I had to leave.

Both of you have been the only parents I've known since that wonderful day, so many decades ago, that you liberated me from the Birth Givers.

I know you've told us that the world outside these walls is cruel and sinful and filled with nothing but hate, I know that's why you took us away from it all, but I just couldn't stand around any longer letting you do all the work, knowing how much there is to fix, and not lifting a finger to try to fix it.

That's why I've gone out into the chaos just like you once did, to find children like James, Marjorie and I – children trapped by ignorant Birth Givers in their world of strife – children who I can help bring to the truth.

I hope that one day I can be as a good a parent to my children, as you were to me, and I hope that when we meet again – our little family will have grown.

Please forgive me in the meantime.

Yours in light,

Kevin