I ran through the forest, wanting, needing, begging to get away. I couldn't stay here anymore, for this town, these people, were holding me back and sucking me in.

I ran and ran, my backpack thumping on my spine like a second heart as my lungs pleaded to stop to breath and my legs were on fire, burning as hot as the pashion I had now.

I heared footsteps behind me and I knew they were coming and they would reach me, but not capture me or drag me in.

Society crept on to me as I knew I had to fight. I threw my backpack to the ground as I stood ready for confict.

Then I saw it , coming over the hill, my doom or my daydream.

A black fog, faces and voices of those who hurt me, and those who loved me, and those I escaped from.

I stand tall, knowing I can handle them. I stand strong, the dark, thick fog rolling to me, consuming me, its next victim.

"Ugly" they called to me, "Stupid", "Lame" "A horrible person" but I stood strong, rejecting them as they rejected me.

"Weak" they said, "Strong" I whispered.

The whisper rang out, destroying the fog as it rushed back to its source.

"Victorious" I said. I grabbed my back pack and ran.