Running From Oneself

A Story by The Fool

The story of a lad who grows up in a way that brings him sorrow.

"Don’t stop" he thought to himself while running. "Keep running" he thought while fighting for breath. He said those mantras to himself, never slowing, never stopping. Sixteen winters old Jerami stumbled through the dark forest, tripping over roots hidden in the dark, stones covered in leaves from trees he didn’t see with his dry eyes. He wondered why."No" he said to himself, "Don’t think and don’t stop" he nearly shouted to the silent forest, but couldn’t find the breath. Images jumped to his head. He tried to push them off, but was too tired. Still, he ran. A caravan. A bonfire. The sound of laughter. With these memories in his head, he almost stopped running. Almost. Pictures kept rising. A fallen wagon. The final scream of a man. Blood. Blood was everywhere, flowing on the floor, mixed with spilled win, sprayed on the coaches walls, flowing from " "NO!" an internal shout rose in him. "Don’t think, just run". From what? "What am I running from?" the question kept popping in his head. He couldn’t remember. Jerami stopped. What am I running from? He asked himself. He tried to recall the night. He started remembering the late afternoon. The caravan he traveled with for a year and a half stopped early. Something about a party… "A birth day! It was my birthday!" he recalled "we stopped to celebrate", He continued, "We laughed at it, since I'm the youngest, and now finally a man". He was thirsty. He heard a stream, and started for it. When he got to it, he quenched his thirst, and stopped to rest. "We drank. A lot. One of the women joked that it was time to make me a man… officially. So we drank more. A fight started, about… something foolish. The one I fought was bigger than me, and less drunk… I can't recall his name. I was about to get beaten, and then I saw a knife. I grabbed for it… someone stopped me, but I was so drunk… I stabbed him. Right in the gut. The camp went into a rampage. I enjoyed it, so I stabbed another one, the one I fought with." He stopped. He remembered. "I stabbed them all… one by one... and I liked it…" He found that the bloody knife was still clutched in his hand. He looked at the water, and saw his reflection. It was covered with blood. He didn’t even feel the tears on his cheek as he drove the knife point through his chest.