It never slowed down, trekking through open land and carving its way through the desert. She watched the moon crawl closer to the mountains—hours, minutes, seconds blurring together.
She wanted to crack through the drying cement in her skull or slip a razor blade across her sagging eyelids. She so desperately wanted to be awake.
She had been awake—for a moment—while she ran through the rain, away from the warmth of her house, away from her distant and snoring husband, away from the fake world (her prison cell) she built around her.
But now, after the intense electricity that seized her in that moment, she felt empty, and it was like trying to light soggy paper on fire.
A void replaced the chaos.
She thought she would implode.
YOU ARE READING
train stations
Short Storyall these letters to you, and i should be writing to myself -forgotten
