Alyssa Cummings

Wooden Bench by the Creek

“I can’t take this anymore.” I thought to myself as I slammed the trunk full of boxes shut. At only seventeen years old, that was our fifth move since I began high school. I should have been running in the cross country meet that day, I know I would’ve won. I’d finally hit a 17 minute 5k. I’d trained at the high school track across from our apartment two, sometimes three times a day in my worn out tennis shoes. Maybe it was just to get out of our crammed little space, or maybe just to clear my mind, but I would run, despite my new shin splints. the wind would brush against my shaggy blonde hair. I was free, at least while I ran.