running

What had happened was this. She had seen him fight. She had seen him lose. She had changed her mind about him. Or so he thought. Maybe she had planned this from the start. To humiliate him. She was with the bully again. He hated her. No, he didn’t hate her. He loved her. But he hated everyone else. He hated himself. He hated the world. Hate was such a strong word. No, it was hate that he felt.

He felt his body shivering, his legs like mountains between which the sun that was his head was hiding. His body shivered. It was not cold, but he felt like he was freezing. He shifted a little to the right. Sunlight streaming in. There, that was better. Direct warm rays of sunlight hitting the back of his head. Warm, enthusing, infusing him with light. A little bit better. But he was still mad. He was still hating.

The shadows underneath him swayed from side to side as he rocked ever so slightly, as his chest heaved with unfreed sobs. He could smell blood pounding in his nose, it was also blocked with mucus. He could feel the salty, sad tears on his tongue. But he had not cried yet. He looked up, rubbed a hand over his face. They were there. Streaks of dried tears on his face. A concerning thought. Was he going mad? What was happening? He left the house.

His father was on a business trip. His mother had gone shopping with some friends. He left the house. The sun was high and warm. Breathing in the salty air helped clear his nose. Breathing in the breezy, wet air helped clear his head. Just a little. Just enough. The sand was soft under his feet, for some reason he needed to feel it. He took off running. He was not much of a runner. So he stopped, gasping for breath after a few hundred yards. Bent over, hands on his knees, mouth open, sucking in all the air it could. He ran again. He stopped a little earlier this time. Legs screaming in pain. He gasped. Then again. Again. Again. Now they were shivering. His legs were shaking. He turned around. His house was too far away. He turned around, and began to walk back. Then almost on impulse, again. He barely went a few yards before tumbling, his legs screaming but also sighing in relief. He had tripped over a shell. The fall was soft, but the sand was everywhere. On his face, on his clothes, he could feel it under his clothes too. He got up, stumbling over the confused and confusing surface. Fell down again, his legs caving underneath him. Then he got up and slowly walked to his house. The sun beating down on him. His face caked with sand, his clothes messy. His heart in pain. His legs in pain. But his head was just a little bit clearer now.