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Torn and Frayed

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The darkness of the twilight gave off the memory of Death; of him. The sickly pale orb of night appeared to be floating in the seemingly nonexistent sky; the single source of light for the boy on the run. Sporadic and irregular puffs of air left the chapped and callused lips, a problem that could’ve been avoided, but past attempts to escape have failed, and taking chances isn’t an option. This time however, more distance had been covered than before. Fire erupted within the tight, overused muscles; running much longer wasn't an option, but neither was stopping. The slightest break, the smallest stop for air to breathe and for muscles to relax, meant more time lost to get as far as possible. From prior knowledge town was becoming closer and closer with every muscle aching step to freedom; to home.

Blurs of luminescence appeared on the horizon; bulbs of civilization. Asphalt beneath pale, bare feet, becoming more solid. Reaching the outer limits of town; old, cracked roads left behind, replaced with new, smoothed roads and boulevards to take their place, as to no longer destroy more of the broken boy. Crimson smears, jagged cicatrices; spider webs and illustrations strewn over the small frame. Fragments of fabric hung off the weakened, frail body of the fair toned, mole covered, teen.

Silence consumed the sound, keeping an edge like a knife to the boy’s throat. Fear and adrenaline push the burning muscles, encouraging them to continue and hold on, just as the teen had in his weeks of captivity. It wasn’t much longer before the houses and buildings came into his perspective. Running until he made it to the hospital where he knew, surrounded by people, he could have some sense of security from the monster that no doubt was already on their way to find him, but he was never safe, never again.

In the wake of the glass sliding doors of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital the inner conflict was beginning to build all over again. He couldn’t stay out here, in the open, unsafe; but he couldn’t go in either, these people, the ones who lost him, the ones he lost, he couldn’t ruin whatever lives they had created since that night by entering this building. Exhaustion began to flood through his veins, drowsiness consumed him and stars of light began to appear like stars in his vision. Plodded steps through the doors, he needed this, to be in a better place, to be around people, to be away from danger; from him.

Sights blurred, and sound buzzed together, he wasn’t going to last much longer, he was going to pass out and he didn’t know if he could stop it. Carrying on to the front desk in slow, and heavy steps seemed to take forever and he didn’t know if he’d get much farther, to tell the receptionist who to look for, if they were still around, but he needed to try, he’d come so far and he couldn’t go back, he wouldn’t go back. The pain and exhaustion seemed to grow heavier with every step, with every push to get farther. Blurs of body-like figures in greens, blues and pinks seemed to notice him, but he only wanted one,

“Melissa. Get…Melissa.”