Story Time! – The Runner

It’s that time again lovelies! I’ve just written this piece so it may have some mistakes and that sort of thing but I really like where the story is going in my head so this is a bit of a teaser. Enjoy!


“Running. I was running”, I whisper.
“What were you running from?” he asks.
“I…I don’t remember.”
“You’ve got to remember something.”
“I can’t. All I know is that I had to run away.”
“What about your address? Where do you live?”
“I’m sorry. I…I can’t even remember my name.”
“Kev, what’s going on?” he calls to the man who must be Kev.
“I don’t know man, I’ve never seen this kind of thing before,” he messily stacks some papers on his desk and stumbles through the door, “I mean, she can’t even remember her name man. That’s not normal.” I guess I should explain. Well, I’ll explain what I can. I’m sitting in the police station in the middle of nowhere with two officers and I can’t remember my name. Or why I was running to the police station in the first place.
“Are you sure you can’t remember anything else? Anything at all?” the first officer asks me. I close my eyes. What is my name? Where do I live? What was I running from?
“Dammit. Joe, what are we going to do? Send out a patrol?” Kev asks, obviously flustered.
“Yeah, do it. Just do it and see what comes up,” Joe replies, “Um, miss, you can stay here for the night, if you have nowhere else to go. We’ll organise a shrink to come and see you tomorrow morning, hopefully help you remember.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I whisper. I wrap my flannie around me tighter. Why can’t I remember? Please just let me remember. Joe stands up and gestures for me to follow. I slowly stand up, trying to hold myself up after running for so long. Joe walks down a corridor and takes a left, then a right, then another left. And there in front of me is my home for the night. A dirty old holding cell.
“Sorry we haven’t got anywhere nicer for you to stay,” he looks sheepishly at his feet.
“It’s fine. I just don’t understand. What’s happening to me? Am I going crazy?”
“I…ah…I don’t know, miss. I’m sorry. It doesn’t make sense to me either.”
We both glance at the floor, hoping it’ll tell us something; anything.
“Well, if you need anything, miss, Kev and I are on duty for the rest of the night, just down the hall. Call out if you need anything.” Joe turns to go back the way we came. I struggle my way to the makeshift bed and sit down on the edge and slide off my boots. The poor things look horrible. There’s mud and leaves all matted into the laces and scratches all over the fake leather. My socks are sweaty and dirty. My three quarters are covered in splashed up mud and dirt and my flannie has a long tear down the back. I slide under the itchy woollen blanket and check my pockets one more time, in case somehow something’s magically appeared in them. Nothing. I roll to look at the ceiling, a girl who knows nothing about herself with no possessions and no hope.


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