All I want to do is run. Not to something. Not away from something. I just want to run to nowhere. I want to run and see where my instincts carry me. I want to run where the light carries me. I want to run and feel the cold December air splash against my face. I want my thighs to hurt by the end of the day. I don't want to run and be timed, like in gym class, I want to run with my own will, my own pace, my own direction, my own length. I want to run in dirt, in grass, in mud, on pavement. I want to run through trees, through sand, through creeks, through tall grasses. I want to sweat when it's summer, I want to pant when on cold wintery mornings. I want my heart to beat fast, I want my tongue to be dry. I want to run in the early mornings in late Spring, when the grass is covered in slight dew. When there's still a crisp cool before the sun rises.

The birds chirp in the early morning, while the sun showers on the trees.
I stand in the cold, shivering. I hug my self, but at the same time, I enjoy the beautiful morning sounds.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask out loud to the trees. They look like they're laughing in the strong wind (especially the ever green trees), but also laughing at some hysterical joke.
Today I'm not scared. Not scared at all. I have a river and a dog-house. I have food and... time. I can live here for 2 years. I mean, I have books to read. Plus, my dad can home-school me again. If I can find him... I shake my head. What am I thinking? I'll never find him. He's dead. He's DEAD! I scream in my head. I stop thinking of my dad because a beautiful red-white-black wall creeper flies down near my feet, searching for insects. I feed it some crumbs from my chips. It pecks my palm for anymore, chirps as if to say thank you and flies away.
"Your welcome." I whisper and I wave, looking up after the bird in the bright blue sky. Did I just make a friend? I ask myself. I suppose I did.

A little cricket hopped on the tip of my black Converse shoes.

"What are you doing up? It's December. You should be hibernating, little one." The cricket seems to look up at me, with those teeny tiny beady eyes, and tilt it's head, confused. I laugh at it. The little cricket hops away, under a thin branch. I stretch my legs, hoist my bag over my shoulder, and slowly begin to run. I don't speed up, I just let the scenery rush past me.

"I wonder how my sister is doing," I think to myself. "She's probably studying for her exam she'll take this month." I run for 3 hours until 9:00. My stomach rumbles and asks for breakfast. I jog over to the picnic table behind the church. I pull out my 3 left over apples, a carrot, 2 oranges, that I found in someone's garden and a bag of chips, that I found in the school play-ground yesterday. I eat everything, but save 2 apples for later. After breakfast, I job back to my dog-house and pull out my spear I made 9 months ago. Still sharp, and shiny, I carry it to the river, and jab it into the first big, fat fish I see.

"I caught you!" I shout and grin widely. "I will have a dinner today!" Finally some luck. I bring my spear out of the water, and take the floppy, slimy fish off the sharp end. I take my hunting knife and start to clean the scales off the fish. When I'm done, I cut in the middle and spill out the insides of it. I cut the head off and go over to my fire place, surrounded by rocks. I lay the fish in the iron pan, and light the fire. I blow in it, and finally the flames spark up. I sit back, admiring my cooking fish.