I must begin by confessing I had no plan in mind as I made my escape into the refreshing coolness of that winter night. All I knew was freedom was mine, but freedom from what I could not say. Yet even with the hurt and confusion, I enjoyed the hidden romance behind such an escape. Truthfully, the night I left home I knew not if I was being set free or being thrown to the tigers that roam the mean streets. Oh yes, dear illusioned people, even small towns such as Desmond, Missouri, have mean streets.
The moon was high in the sky when I set out. Very few of my possessions went with me: a small dagger, a pen, and my address book. I took one other thing with me, and it was a strong dose of ambivelance(misspelled). Yes, of one thing only was I sure, and that was that I was unsure of all. Everything was present in mind yet, words elluded me when I summoned them forth. Aside from the sureness of unsureness, I reacall knowing that my life had made a significant when I left home.
Never shall I forget it. It was nearly midnight on the seventeenth of December, and I was alone in the world. I didn't know what to do or who to call, or, for that matter, if I should call anyone. I took to walking and letting my soul silently sob itself better. Such was an inner sobbing, you must realize, for if I was to show it outwardly, I wouldn't have lasted five seconds on the street.
A brisk wind bit at me through my jacket, which I was lucky enough to have had on at the time of that fateful altercation, and sent an uncontrollable shiver through my body. I felt empty inside, and I longed for both the past and future in a single breath. With the decision (probably better described as an impulse) to leave, I felt the chains of an unnamable bondage being melted from both my wrists and ankles, but also, I must admit, I was burned by the pains this freedom caused my family.