BETTER OFF GROUNDED

                It's amazing how fast you can run when you're running for something you're passionate about. When I was in grade 3, I beat everyone in the Terry Fox run. Or as I used to say, I owned them. My passion for helping the cancer-stricken had stemmed from  my  teacher's unforgettable words:

                "Remember, tomorrow I want to see all of you running as fast as can be! As you run like the wind, don't stop until you've thought about what it would be like if you're mom had cancer. You would never see the world the same ever again..."

                But then again, the principal had also appointed some well meaning teachers to be the "cancer cells", and if we didn't run fast enough, they would "catch us and multiply on us".

                As my head turned to these thoughts, I momentarily pushed out why is was running. But I was nearing the woods, and I knew where I was headed. It was more of a gesture of rebellion, because in grade six, one of my friends had built a rickety tree house up an extremely tall tree with his cousins, and I had accidentally let it slip out in front of my parents. To this day, I still resent them for picking me up every day after school until the principal found out about the tree house and forbid anyone to go near those woods before, during or after school. Now, I was headed there, ready to climb that tree and get into that tree house. My brain was not contemplating whether or not my 20 pound weight differences would send the house plummeting to the ground. I was revelling in my rebellious ways.

                Then, it happened. One moment, I was hating my parents for bringing me to a town where the principal could control your actions off-property; the next moment a large pine tree swung out of nowhere. And yes, it was the spiky kind.

                I dove to the right, that stupid, grey mass in my head realizing a second too slow that a thorny thicket surrounded right where I was landing. My hands flew out instinctively, and I belly-flopped into thorns and berries.

                My face is so screwed, I thought, as I lay beside the thicket in soft, green grass. It was actually very strange how the longer I had lain in the thorns, the less it had hurt. But finally I decided to roll out, screaming and shaking my head. After picking out all the thorns, I found a spare tissue in my pocket and wiped my face. It was apparent, by my red polka-dotted masterpiece, how much I looked like a leper. I was silently thanking the bush that it had spared my eyes and mouth, when I saw a figure in the distance.

                Against my better judgement, I assumed it was Dad. Getting up, I ran towards the woods, dodging anything that even resembled a bush. I didn't stop; I knew they would find me in the outer edges. I soon came to a small river. Knowing my socks would eventually get soaked, I pulled them off, stuff them in my pockets and splashed through the river. It went ankle deep, cooling my heels and feeling quite refreshing. I took care not to step on sticks or rocks after that, guiding my feet towards moss patches or bare earth. I didn't need to run; I wasn't even sure where the tree house was anymore. I just kept blindly pushing deeper into the woods, wondering what time it was. Then I realized that I had a watch. How stupid of me, I chastised myself as I check the time. It was half past three; school was over and my the entire student body would be alerted of my disappearance shortly. I really had found every reason to dislike small towns, figuring that I could write a book and fill at least fifty pages. I guess it was instinct, or maybe something unknown had guided me there, but I realized that beyond a few trees was the tree. That thing we thought had been the tallest thing in the world until my teacher told us about the CN tower. The rickety tree house was still perched atop, minus a few missing pieces of the roof. Looking down at my feet, I wouldn't climb that tree. My toes were too precious. I decided to take a break under it, realizing for the first time how tired I was. My body surrendered to its fatigue and the darkening sky, and I fell asleep under the rickety tree house...

                ... with a start, I sat up. I could hear the pitter patter of a heavy rain outside—wait, was I not outside? I felt the floor, my hand damp pine boards. Out of the holes in what appeared to be a makeshift roof, I saw a branch swaying as rain hit it. I realized, all at once, that I was in the tree house. That forbiden, ramshackle peice of crap that could fall any minute, I was actually sitting inside. The house suddenly seemed to tilt. I screamed, rushing for the small hole that served as an entrance. It was too late. the house buckled as beams snapped. I screamed and hung onto my knees, closing my eyes. But then, I realized that If I was about to die, why not risk everything? Jumping up, I spread my wings and...

                ...woke up with a start. I horridly patted my back, relieved that there were no wings attached to me. I was still sitting on the ground, under that tree house, and it was still clinging onto the branches like they were its source of life. The only connection from my dream: it indeed was raining, and a particular branch swayed vigorously as it occasionally tipped a splash of water on my jeans. I was also completely soaked, and sitting in mud. Screaming, I stood up and looked around. Another factor of my dream had just come true—the rain was heavy. And it was dark.

                Why did I not go home? I pondered as I started walking swiftly away from the tree. I was sure it was the right direction, since I had been facing the tree when I sat down, turned around and fell asleep. I sloshed through mud, wondering how soft earth could transform into knee-deep swamps in a few hours. Mom will be so mad—wait, why should I care? She doesn't even love me, and dad's just a fat retard. They should just go and f—

                Somewhere, buried under the mud I was sloshing through, a tree had decided to stretch its roots across my path. My foot caught the edge, and I fell headlong into the mud. I wanted to scream, to yell, to throw a tantrum, but mud would get in my mouth. So I just stayed there, thinking if I would end up being the first person in this town to have been drowned by lying in crap. Then I heard a voice.

                "You know, it's not healthy to eat mud."

                I opened my mouth to scream, but mud flooded in. Gasping, I flipped myself and gagged. Mud flew everywhere, and in out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure move lithely out of the way. I let out my full scream.

                Anjelie had not been wrong about me having one of the loudest screams in the school. The silhouetted figure slipped away, and I knew the worst was over. but I still screamed,  all the while getting out of the mud and attempting to sprint somewhere, anywhere that was out of this horrid woods. I learned yet another lesson that day: sprinting in knee deep mud does not work. I promptly fell back into the mud, feeling very much like Kelly Clarkson, minus the wedding gown and adulterous fiancée. Tears began streaming down my face, and I yelled for Mom, then Dad, then Anjelie for quite a while. My voice grew coarse, and I had a sinking feeling of desperation. I heard the voice again.

                "Are you that girl at Rainy River High School?"

                I wanted to inform him that there were no other schools, but all my thoughts were overshadowed by a startling realization. It was the new, rich boy, that pouty guy who had eyes that were unfathomable. Drawing to what I had seen on TV, he was rich, bored, hated this town, and was going to rape me.

Author's Note

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