Running To You

A Story by Teresa Bulger

It's a short story.

I put on my running shoes, and lock the front door behind me. I go for a jog every chance I get, especially on a beautiful day like this. I have promised to visit you once a day, until we can’t stand the sight of one another. Not possible…

Right?

I head for the deserted back roads, into the vast acres of greenery. The flowers are blooming beautifully around the grass that seems to sprout just for the masses of cows and horses strewn all over the acreage. I keep up a steady pace, putting in my ear buds. Mozart welcomes my ears and suddenly my mind is on you all over again. You love Mozart, right? Well, I do.

The classics are timeless; endless. Just like these deserted roads. You don’t like closed in spaces, secluded roads, do you? Well, I do.

I kick up dirt in my face and I have to stop to brush the dust out of my brown pupil, but the next stretch of direction is beckoning me forward; you’re drawing me closer to you. Does this delight you? Well, it does me.

There are clusters of trees coming up on my left, surrounded by more flowers; more specifically, daisies. Do you like daisies? Well, I do.

I come upon a familiar spot; the log we sit on is still molded into the softened dirt. I cannot resist the temptation for a break, but that’s okay. You’re closer than you appear, be patient.

After my heightened heart rate slows, I bend my knees and stand to my feet. I curve around the first of many trees, and a smile warms my cheeks as again. We will see each other soon.

I circle the earth with my running shoe and drop to my knees as my hands meet the moist comfort of the dirt, and I am unable to control a shrill laugh escaping my lungs. You’ll laugh, too.

Mere seconds pass by, and I can already see your arm. Your skin is turning purple, did you know that? It’s disgusting.

That pink tank top you love so much is now visible, but it is covered in dried blood. I’m disgusted by the state of your torso. Aren’t you? You should be.

A little more digging and you’re completely uncovered, with your hands folded, placed over your chest like a sleeping angel. But you’re no angel, and I know your secret.

You’re dead.

And I killed you.