Running.

Feeling completely out of the ordinary, she sat down at the computer.

She quickly read what was flashing on the screen and stood up. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to run.

She thought the best sound in the world was the sound of her tennis shoes slapping the pavement at 5:30 in the morning. The musky air and stillness of the world made her comfortable in ways she could never explain. The contrast of her white shoes and the pitch black pavement made her chuckle every time she looked down at her feet. The slight wetness of the grass made good traction difficult, but she enjoyed the challenge.

Running was her therapy. Because she couldn't run from anything or anyone, she ran for herself. She ran for all the times she had been hurt, when it felt like her heart was slowly being taken apart piece by piece. She ran for all the times she had been scared of how something would turn out, when she thought she would fail. Most importantly she ran for all the times she felt nothing, and thought that she should.

It happened quite frequently, really.

It's not like she didn't have emotions. She had more passion in her for the things she loved than she could convey properly, more compassion for every person in her life than anyone understood, and more saddness for the things that didn't work out than a typical person would.

As she ran over a small bridge she glanced down at the water. A couple of small fish were sitting idly next to a branch that had fallen into the pond. It was 5:30 in the morning, she figured, nature's probably still sleeping.

She turned up the volume to her music almost as loud as it would go and kept on running. Her chest started to hurt and she could feel the tears coming. Everyday this happened. She would be at peace with everything, and then life hit her in the face like a ton of bricks. Gasping for air she slowed down and the tears fell. Refusing to stop, she made her way back to her house.

She walked in one of the side doors to her house and sprawled out on the floor. The carpet was softer in that room than the rest of the house mainly because it was a throw rug, but also because it didn't get much use. Laying on her back she pulled the headphones out of her ears, shut her iPod off, and wrapped the cords around it. She rolled over onto her side and slowly stood up.

As she past her computer again, she debated answering the flashing message on the screen.

Deciding not to, she started getting ready for the day.