Runaway

The first time I ever thought about running away I was roughly six years old. I had watched the movie Pee Wee's Big Adventure, and seen the part where he's walking down the road carrying a pole over his shoulder. I took a pillowcase, but a few belongings in it, and tied it to the end of a golf club.

I started off down the stairs with no idea of where I was going. All I knew was that I didn't want to be where I was. At six years old I already knew that there was a whole world outside waiting for me.

I didn't belong in my house because I didn't fit in there. Within minutes my quest for freedom, my stepmother snatched me by the arm, and began spanking me. She was yelling at me and asking me what in the hell I thought I was doing and where I was going. I remember feeling the pit inside my stomach open up as it swallowed my soul; my childhood was over as quickly as it had begun.