Running Away

Part I

I do not believe it. Not in any corner of my heart or sliver of my soul do I think my father is innocent. Every time he opens his mouth, a lie crosses his lips. Words are his weapons, his tools of psychological manipulation.

Silence is her means of survival.

It was night again. My hair stood on the back of my neck as the familiar screams escaped the bedroom down the hall from mine. I lay in my narrow bed and listen.

"Don, what do you mean you're drunk again? I thought we agreed you would stop!¨ I heard his palm strike my mother's cheek, followed by the sound of muffled cries.

"I told you to shut up, Rebecca! If you don't like it, you can leave!¨ He shouted with a voice that seemed to shake the entire house. Afterward came the sound of complete silence. The scene had become routine in the Thompson house.

This is why I ran away.

The next morning started off cold and still. Quietly, I climbed out of bed and tip-toed over the discarded socks and shirts sprinkled around my bedroom floor. Tears blurred and burned my sight, and yet, even with my vision distorted, I still managed to cram my bag with the bare essentials: 4 changes of clothing, a map, some food, a blanket, shampoo, and $100 I slipped from my father's wallet.