I ran out of the door and into the street as my drunk dad came after me with a knife. If he caught me I would bee in pain for months. I raced through the streets heading out of town with my father running after me. As I got closer to the woods, I heard dad getting closer. When I made it to the tree line I felt a sharp pain in my leg and fell to the ground. Before I could get up, my dad was kicking and punching me.

After twenty painful minutes my dad walked away laughing. I took the knife out of my leg and quickely wraped the wound in a strip of cloth to stop the bleeding. To weak to do so muck as walk, I crawled away into the woods to get away. If I went back home I would get worse that the beating I just took. As time went by, I started trying to stand up and walk. After a while I was able to walk while holding on to low-hanging branches.

I had no plan as to where I was going but I knew that it would be much better than where I was. Besides, he wouldn't care if I left, no one would care.