I Run Away : A Short Story : Running Away

I’ve been forced to collect the wrong memories for most of my life, and everything I want to remember, brings back more pain. I can’t help but blame myself for being taken away. I was young at the time, and when I was told to hide from the men that showed up at our house, I told my sister to hide under the bed with me, but I can bet you know where they checked first, the bed. They had to push and shove my parents out of the way just to get us out of the door. This all led up to the single, worst road trip of my entire life. There was a huge truck parked outside, I could already hear the screaming of young children from inside. Whether it was the high pitch voices of young children or the deeper voices of older children, everyone was crying.

Imagine getting handed over the keys to your very first car. I felt so much excitement inside of me. All I could think of being a race car driver. When I felt those keys in my hand for the first time, I could see myself cruising down the country roads to school. I also thought about being in the streets and racing my friends. Then I felt my mother snatch the keys from my hand and saying “I know you are not thinking about racing.” My mom would always tell me not to speed before I left the house. I heeded the warnings she gave. Feeling like I knew what I was doing, I had a sense of invincibility and knew the cops would never catch me. I ended up seeing the day that I thought would never come.

Two days before my senior year, I was involved in a car accident. I was in absolute shock; I couldn’t believe what just happened. A man turned into the wrong lane and hit us head on. I thought about what happened in total disbelief and realized I could have died due to the actions of a negligent driver. I jumped out of the passenger side of the car and screamed. After I calmed down, I asked myself what my name, address and phone number was to make sure I knew who and where I was. My mom got out of the car and I saw her arm covered in glass and blood. I then saw my sister in the backseat screaming and crying. It felt horrible witnessing them going through this traumatic experience.

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

It felt as if I was surrounded by freezing water while on the inside being burned alive. I let my grades drop I did not care, all that mattered was being an adult and supporting my sister. My teachers did not care, I was invisible. Easy to lose in the crowd.The kids in my grade avoided me because I was “ abnormal” because I did not speak. The people who were supposed to be my guardians did not have enough money to feed both my sister and me. So I did not eat except for what was left over from dinner. I became pale and skinny. I looked like sick all the time. The only time I ate good was every other weekend when I went to my great aunt and uncle's house. This was the very best that life was going to get from me. I believed I was going to end up like my mother a drug user, and have no life. A few years later, my sister and I moved in with my aunt and uncle. They took my sister and me and gave us a great home. We both started to do a lot better. I got healthy and not so sickly looking, I started to talk a lot more, and I got my grades up. Unfortunately, my little sister did not like the fact that she wasn't entitled to anything anymore, and moved back in with our old Guardians.

On July 20, 2017, at approximately 1507 hours, I responded to 1605 N John Young Parkway in reference to assisting Sgt. J. Ciola in making contact with Brandon Hiroshi Joseph (suspect). On July 19, 2017 at approximately 1545 hours, Sgt. J. Ciola attempted to conduct on a traffic stop on Brandon on Bill Beck Blvd, when he fled from him (see Sgt. J Ciola full report). Based on the aforementioned information Sgt. J. Ciola provided to me, Brandon was placed under arrest for Fleeing to elude with wanton disregard for the safety of the public under F.S.S. 316.1935(3)(a).

At the age of 5 my mother, my father and I took a walk over the bridge in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina. While never been able settle down as a child, my mother took it upon herself to carry me across so that I don’t fall down thirty feet to a watery death. As we enjoy the smell of the air and the wind blowing coolly against us, we decided to take a photo. Father went across from us with the camera and my mother and I stood on the other side, our backs facing the edge of the bridge and the river leading to the ocean. It wasn’t until I heard a scream and saw a flash that I realized I was falling for what felt like 10 seconds. After fifteen hours in a coma, I awoke to find my family happy as can be, even though I had no memory of any of them. It was from that point that I wondered how I would have been a different person had I retained all my previous feelings and thoughts.

When I was four years old, I wasn’t paying attention to my parents and as they were walking into a store, they left me behind. I remember really wanting a Barbie bicycle and I had been distracted. I was then left alone inside of Rockingham Mall and since I was only four, I didn’t know what to do. At first, I started panicking and looking around the mall. I remember seeing a lot of people walking by and it was a really busy day. So then I started to cry and I walked around the mall all by myself. I was on the second floor at that time so I went down the stairs, which I tripped on. I had hit my hand badly and it was bleeding. That’s when I started to cry. I then walked around the mall crying until I reached one of the exits.

It all started one morning in Aurora, Colorado. I came downstairs to eat so I can go outside to play. After I eat I run upstairs, but my parents stopped me,

I pretended to read my book. For the past fifteen minutes, Nolan had been bothering me outside my window. He took advantage of the fact that my parents weren't home, yet. I didn't open the house door when he knocked, so he decided to come at my window, which was slightly ajar for ventilation, and he managed to stuck his head underneath it, not allowing me to shut the frame.

One day in Michigan, we decided to go to Lake Michigan. We went to the beach. It was one of those it's-very-windy type of days. At the beach there was giant dunes the size of small mountains. So we decided to climb up the dunes. When we got to the top it looked like we could see the whole world. My mom and Justin decided to walk down the safe path.. Me on the other I decided to run down the sandy dune. So I ran as fast as I could jumping when you jump it feels like you jumped the the whole dune when I got to the middle I jumped again and when I landed the was a log in front of me I hit the log and tumbled the whole way down the dune. Once I stopped I realized how much I got hurt. I had cuts all over me and a giant scar that

If you really want to know about my traumatic childhood, it all started in a small town outside of Philadelphia. I was around 9-10 years old at the time and we lived about right in the middle of a forest. There was no clear patch of open field to be found. You would think there were many animals around too, for living in the middle of nowhere, but the coolest thing you 'd find was a lost deer now and then. Anyway, the incident took place on a cool night in the middle of July. I was in my crappy two-story house in bed. I remembered the wind to be wild that night and of course the walls of the house were as thin as paper, so it sounded like a tornado was forming outside. I was having trouble falling asleep, so I went to get a glass of milk.

I was 6 years old as I heard another fight between dad and mom. This time it was unbearable to hear so I went to my room and curled into a corner to cover my ears. No matter how much my tiny hands pressed on my ears I could still hear my dad and mom yelling at each other. All of a sudden, I hear a loud noise and the yelling stopped. I run to their room, terrified of what I might see. I was right to be terrified because I can see my mom on the ground with her hand on her red cheek. Then the monster of my dad grabs her and hits her again.

She’s only 7 years old, unaware but frightened. It’s a challenging time for being a Syrian. Fleeing her home because of the war.

When I was 11-years-old, we moved to Toronto, Ontario. Shortly after the move, I ran away for the first time because of my stepfather’s physical abuse. In the next two years, it was always the same; I ran away, and the police delivered me back to my stepfather.