I let the door slam behind me. I don't know what I'm doing. I break into a sprint as an icy wind rushes to meet me. I have no where to go. My feet keep moving as I disappear beyond the view of the streetlights, with no direction in mind.
I run from my mother, though she's too far into the bottle to know I'm gone. I run from my loneliness. What I thought to be my most valued friendship has failed to come to fruition.
I run. I contemplate not stopping. I think about the dangers of the night on the street, but I throw up my hands and spin around on the broken glass of my illusions. "Take me if you will," I breathe to the night.
My feet carry me past a laundromat. A man looks at me. I stop. I am back in reality. How long have I been running? It's ten-thirty. My problems are as near as ever. I turn around and run bak to where I came from. The glass remains shattered.