let’s get lost……. Voices of the ones who choose to walk away


I have always been fascinated by the stories of people who walk away from their lives, this is fiction, the imagined first lines of stories, explanations, scribbled notes and interviews from people who run away.

One day i ran away to join the circus, expect that there wasn’t any circus, so I just ran away instead.

I didn’t come off the motorway at the usual exit, I just kept driving until I ran out of petrol and then I sat in the car with my head on the steering wheel while I waited for something to happen.

Before I walked away, I cleaned the bathroom, even the bits that didn’t show, I knew that everyone would think badly enough of me, I didn’t want them to think I was dirty too.

I sat at work, adding up figures and suddenly realised that I hadn’t managed one significant act in my whole life.

I ran before it all came crashing down, the sense of relief was immense.

I couldn’t bear the way she looked at me, couldn’t bear the way she tried to keep the children quiet, convinced myself that they would all be better off if I wasn’t there.

I tried to pretend that nothing had changed, that I was still the same person. On the nights when I woke, covered in sweat, my wife cowering in a corner of the bedroom, keeping that pretence going seemed impossible.

I couldn’t get her to shut up, couldn’t stop her asking for more and more. I walked out early one morning, i didn’t look back.

I ran away the day before the building society repossessed the house.

I walked out of my life and no-body noticed.

He broke my heart and made a mockery of my carefully constructed little life, so I went in search of a better one.

When I lost my job, I knew I should go home to face the music, but I caught a train instead.

I realised that I only stayed to give the dog a home, so I left and took the dog with me.

The more I owned,the more it all seemed a burden, I dreamt of being weightless, so I took the smallest bag we had and even that seemed to much to own.

I wanted less history, to be someone different , to reinvent myself. I sat on a bus, considering and discarding new first names.

I wanted someone to miss me.

I couldn’t find a way of going back, so I didn’t, but I wish I could, sometimes.

I ran away because I was too afraid to stay.

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About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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