I came here to escape death, but in turn it seems as if I'm now running into its hungry mouth, wide open, ready to swallow me at any moment. My father used to tell me "wealth is never given (or in my case taken) only gained". I guess I should have thought about this earlier. I know I'm being watched with stares that could turn me to stone in an instant; leaving only a bullet to finish me off. So maybe I'll go. The buildings here are all painted white anyway. It's not really my color.

Although I know nothing much better waits for me in the next town I still need to get away from here. It's whole look and persona seems to leek with the unbearable reality of what could be my future. Just the thought of it horrifies me. Pictures of stone walls and barred windows flash in and out of my mind, along with the images of those who accepted their fate and gave up. something I will never do .

Surrender isn't usually a word used in my vocabulary, but today, just as soon as I arrived I feel like it's practically being tattooed on to every inch of my body. along with harsh voices ringing in my hears telling me "stop", "you'll never amount to anything". But I won't give in. I can't. I know far beyond his barren wasteland of a town there is still hope for me.

Walking along the sidewalk now, the wind is starting to pick up, and change directions, and dark clouds roll in from the north. A storm is exactly what I need, because it's just another excuse for me to leave here as soon as possible.

Signs lining the street telling of those who once lived here are pushed by the wind, seeming to wave me on and bid me farewell.