I move my legs rapidly like pistons, my hair flowing in the crisp air, sweat dripping down my face. I feel safe for the first time without the comfort of my dog or my parents. As I blaze through the redwood trees towering over me with the beautiful birds chirping the harmonious melody of the soft sea, I notice that the thick, rich trees and the roaring, royal eagles are like my new Family. They might not be in the same shape as me or carry the same genes I do, but at least they understand me enough to not yell at me or slash me with the frigid, leather belt or other abusive tools every time I make the slightest error. As everyone I have ever loved is now dead, this forest must now be my Family. I didn’t ask for this Family of plants and screeching animals- who would? But this Family is all I have left.
“Johnny! Mrs. Johansen just called! What’s this about you failing math?!” my aunt screamed at me. I tried to explain how the numbers never came to me, even after hours upon hours of studying: it wasn’t fair how I studied so extensively and yet received the worst grade in the class. It didn’t help either how the whole class, including Mrs. Johansen hated me. That’s how it was for me in third grade. All the kids, teachers, relatives, and any other creature who roamed the earth other than my dog despised me, for they attack my soul constantly with their fists, words, and looks.
Too bad it hasn’t changed much in the span of eight years.
I allowed my legs to slumber as I reached the ravishing and detailed body of water, so clear I could see the thundering bridge that represented the hometown of San Francisco. It’s so deceiving because it tricks people into thinking that it is golden, a symbol of perfection and greatness. However, it’s just fake gold, for it is really the evil color of red, portraying darkness. People don’t realize its misleading and haunting intentions. I took the gritty, darkened rock lying beneath me and bombarded it into the heart of the bridge so the reflection would vanish. I nauseate from just the sight of the hideous creature that the bridge secretly is.
We all were laughing hysterically while driving from the previous excitement at Red’s Pizza, and my “friends” decided it would be a good idea to pull over on the Bridge and look out into the tranquil waters. I agreed, not because I wanted to, but because I would do anything to be accepted by my peers. Well, I used to anyways. “Guys, guys,” Rick started, “Let’s all close our eyes and just, be one with the bay.” This was peculiar. I would never have imagined these guys to just gaze upon the bay. I didn’t object because again, I was desperately afraid to disrupt the pack. As my eyes shut, I felt as if I was on another land, a land so majestic and wondrous that I could skip on the grassy, free meadow for hours, where my beastly tears turned into sparkling laughter and glowing eyes. My imagination discontinued as I heard the sound of devilish laughter and engines starting. I glanced behind me and the yellow mustang was replaced by the ever-changing lines of cars that was the ‘best’ bridge in all of the country.
Ever since then I never trusted another human soul again.
I can’t stand to look at the misleading lake anymore, so I look down instead to see the mucky, disgusting mud suffocating my shoes that I had mowed lawns for my lousy neighbors and walked their obnoxious dogs for a whole month just to get the crummiest pair they had from the Nike store. No one wanted the shoes. They were the musky green color of throw-up and had an exterior as hard as a brick. For me, however, they were perfect, because as others see the green as unwanted and gross disposal, I see the so-called “yucky” green to be a huge supporter of our bodies. That’s how I am.  I can be the nicest and most useful guy in the world, but all anyone ever sees is the repulsive face of mine filled with rotten acne and awkward eyebrows that form a unibrow. Deep down, though, those shoes have the potential to change the world, as they give comfort and life to my feet.
I need to save my unwanted shoes, so I took crunchy leaves from the ground and scraped away the mud that pierces the soul of the shoes so they look even more unappealing than what it actually does, and destroys any last hope of recovering. My eyes wander across the dusty ground and make contact with a strange, white object in the ground. I walk cautiously to the mysterious object, pick it up and unravel the dirt from what appears to be a sticker. ‘Roosevelt’s Academy of Young Adults’ it reads. That’s my school. Of course some rotten kid littered this hideous sticker in the ravishing forest of the Redwoods. I move more mud over, I see the words “cross country”- boy, does that bring some memories to mind…
As I blaze from my normal run into the gruesome halls that was Roosevelt Academy, I hear a voice. “Excuse me, sir” an unfamiliar voice cries out. I hate that, when people have the decency to call you such a respectful term such as ‘sir,’ then completely rip its purpose by treating you like dirt. Too many words nowadays are misused. The voice starts again. I turn around, only to see the glowing eyes of the cross country coach. “You were running at a pretty darn fast pace,” he starts. “How long have you been running, boy?” That term was better. Although no one else could, I at least could answer an unwanted response with a smile and a sense of interest. ‘Nice,’ people would call it, yet so many of them too misuse such a delicate word. “I don’t know, sir, to be quite honest with you. All I know is I’ve been running since school ended.” His eyes widened in shock. “Wow, son, that’s well over an hour and a half!” He keeps changing what I am; now he expects me to believe that the safe word of ‘son’ is supposed to give me the insight to join such a meaningless team. I’m not so naïve to know that people can be considered Family without the same genes; I’m Family with the trees and the eagles, aren’t I? But when someone calls just another person ‘son,’ I can’t stand that. I can’t stand that even when my father says that. He continues, “Keeping that pace for that long of a time is sure something. You should really consider joining the cross country team. We could really use you.” Of course they could ‘use’ me; that’s what everyone does. They use me for my gracefulness or my caring nature or my physical features. But will they ‘use’ me in a loving matter? No. They never do. Because of this, I politely decline, saying it’s not my thing. He again insists I join, asking for at least my name. I responded, “You won’t need to know that, sir,” and walked away.
After thinking of such a moronic interaction, I decide to run, like I always do when I’m angry, or sad, or happy, or any time I feel anything. However, as I start, I notice crunching leaves and heavy breaths coming to my ears- my worst fear. I can’t live without this spot. If the horrendous creatures of my school find me here, I’ll have nowhere to escape the jagged edges of their words, and their misguided laughter will hunt me like vicious wolves with white foam draping their mouth. I duck, maybe if they don’t see me, they won’t come back, for all they seek is my sorrow. I keep my head raised, however, trying to see where they will strike me from if they are there. I see a figure. It’s using all four of its legs. Its brown hide is accented with black tips all over. A magnificent tail rises with interest, while its head tilts, revealing his interest. Its tilt isn’t normal in the slightest; it bears too far right, and his ears dangle like chandeliers. I notice my mouth start to grin because for some reason, it relaxes me.
Now that I notice more, it’s him- Rex. It was just all a hallucination; my dog just ran off. It was destiny for me to do that, so I could find my dog! It’s him! Maybe there is still old Family with me as I enter my new home. I run to him, ready to hug him and wrestle like we always do. But as I leap onto his back, I do not feel his warm, beating body. Instead, I land on the dry dirt of nothing. I see his face blend into the blueness that is the sky, for I was not hallucinating about my dog dying, but I hallucinated about my dog in the forest. I can’t stand the idea anymore of being in this devilish place of my hallucinations, so I bolt to my home.

Soon, I reach the depressing spot where the enriching soil and the lively trees are replaced with the soul-crushing blacktop and the monotonous school. I stop. I realize that my runs are the only thing that brings joy to my life, as there are no lies nor hurtful words, no pointless teachings nor insincere people to ruin your day, no excessive yelling that impedes your soul nor any jolting pains rushing to my back that the belt creates. No disappointments. Although it is the source of my hallucinations, at least it brings me joy. Not all families are perfect.
I can be who I am, can think my normal thoughts, can dream my most insane dreams. Here, there is no one to give me condescending looks or judgment; I am not trapped in the bottomless pit for people to throw their hateful words and spear their deceptive laughter into my soul. It’s funny, it’s considered a crime to throw, let’s say, a rock at someone, where it can hurt someone’s exterior. But as that rock’s ridged edges can leave a scar on the outside, words can impale a wound much deeper,  so deep that they  penetrate the soul, with so much force that they stay in there. And when you move your head in any way it bounces the words in such a way that you get a headache so strong that no medication or treatment can heal the wounds. The only thing that can heal wounds that deep is amnesia . . . or death.
Life is dreadful when I’m confined in those walls. I’m never happy in that jail, nor will I ever be. Why am I still there then? I turn around to see the supporting bushes of multiple fruits and the rabbits building burrows in the ground. This place is full of life. If my brothers of eagles and monkeys can survive in this beautiful place, then I can too. So instead of directing my legs in the direction of home, I turn them in the direction of my Home. As I run back to my happy place, the monkeys start screeching and a giant wind breaks in. This is there welcome to me. Finally, I have reached Home, and plan to stay until my last breathe.