The Runner

This time running away was a lot easier.

I mean, everything's easier the second time, right? But it wasn't just that, it was more the fact that I didn't really have a destination in mind to rush to, nor did I have any monsters on my tail, though I wouldn't care to jinx that. But not knowing or caring where I was going as long as it was away cast a strange kind of peace over my mind. The world was mine to roam and explore as I willed, with nothing to stand in my way.

This ran through my mind and all the while I was jogging through a forest as the light began to bend shadows low on the rocky earth when the game trail I was following began to bend up slightly until it was eventually quite a steep incline. Naturally I kept following it out of curiosity, battling my creaking legs and straining lungs. When the ground flattened out and the forest opened, it became clear that I hadn't headed for the mainland, quite the opposite, in fact.

I was standing on a grassy cliff overlooking the shadowy ocean that was battling the wind with its waves. Salt wind tore at my orange T-shirt and dark hair, jostling me where I stood, a clear sign that the weather was soon to turn nasty.

Ahead of me on the very edge of the cliff stood a tall children's-book-style stripy lighthouse that had clearly fallen into disrepair by the looks of the shattered windows and flickering light which was beginning to be the only illumination in the darkness. Even better for me, the lighthouse looked to be unoccupied and with the nightfall and imminent storm, it would be the perfect place to shelter and get some sleep.

I made my way to the door of the lighthouse, stumbling as the wind tripped me and tugged me. I jiggled at the doorknob but whoever had last occupied it had at least thought to lock it.

I went to one of the lower, broken windows and kicked out the rest of the glass with my foot before carefully stepping through into the interior that was in suprisingly good shape.

A winding wooden staircase occupied most of the tower but a small bed and a cupboard stood to the side (I would say in the corner, but their aren't any corners in a lighthouse). The floor of damp wooden planks were rotting underneath a thin layer of general garbage that had blown in the shattered windows.

A gust of wind ripped through the tower and I realised what a bad shelter this would make if I didn't get it fixed up.

So I grabbed as much sacking or plastic sheeting as I could find strewn throughout the tower and began to tape it across the windows with a roll of duct tape I had stuffed in the bottom of my pack.

When I was done, I stepped back to admire my handiwork and was happy when only a mere draft was able to flow through.

I turned to my next project; the cupboard in the corner, and began to rummage through the contents. Inside was a yellow raincoat, rain boots and some cans of tuna, not exactly a bounty of riches as I would've preffered but still quite useful.

A yawn forced it's way onto my lips and I crawled under the coarse wool blankets of the bed with a sigh, pulling out a knife and placing it under my pillow in easy reach before I drifted off into an all-too-welcome slumber.

Notes

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-Phoebe :)