A Retrospection

She won’t answer the phone when it rings.

But today was different. She felt like running as far away from here.

Over and over, until she could not tell which was which.

The nights she spent in crumbling motel rooms were identical nights that turned into identical mornings.

Sometimes alone, other times not.

When the stranger had closed his eyes and slept, she would spend a portion of the night’s earnings to pay for a sad motel to sleep in.

Countless nights, she met strangers whose faces were obscured, maybe by time, after she came.

These places smell of piss and stale chewing gum and the whiff of sin.

The seediest darkest parts of the city, she has been there, in case you are wondering.

***

She caught herself staring at the patch of sunlight on the floor, trying to remember a dream that hung like an unanswered question in her head.

A glance at the red glowing numbers on her watch told her how much time was left until someone called.

Sunlight slowly filtered through the lone window in her room.

She awoke.

***

In circles.

The sweat continued to trickle down her neck and her arms and her aching legs as she ran…

She kept on running, not pausing to take a breath although her wet clothes clung heavily to her body.

Just her and the rhythmic thudding of her worn-out shoes, echoing against a road as blank as the night sky before the rain pours.

Nothing.

There were no cars, no street signs, no stoplights, no traffic enforcers.

Last night’s dream was her, running on a road that stretched into darkness.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Look what I found while organizing word files in my laptop. Fiction written late last year. Just like what I do with almost everything I write, I asked my younger sister who’s fifteen and has written more stuff than I’ve had, to read it and tell me what she thought about it afterwards. My sister said she didn’t like it like it because something was missing. She couldn’t point it out, though. Most of the time, I don’t like explaining what I write because I want the person who’s reading it to figure out everything. In this case, I want to explain without giving away too much (the title is a give away, how ironic.) IT READS BACKWARDS.

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