Purple liked to run.
When she saw them snicker, when the sneers were too overwhelming, when she just couldn't seem to cope with anything in a poised way, she'd tie those worn shoes and head out down the gravel road.
Nobody around her.
Just the breeze tickling her salty face.
Just the feeling of the solid gravel as her feet slammed upon its solidity.
It was her weapon.
And there was something about the rhythm of plodding over that surface, something about the ground penetrating through her core that gave her joy.
Purple couldn't hear the world. And that was why she ran.
Oh yes.
ReplyDeleteYou really captured that feel of running perfectly. Also that last line - wow!
ReplyDeletevery nice. i like the contrast between running being a form of escape and yet also being a weapon--as if she were beating out the words as her feet stomped.
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