I didn't think about leaving home too often. I mean, I guess my family was decent, by my own standards. But considering those standards were abnormally low due to being raised by them, that didn't mean much.

So, here I was. Outside of my home, all my belongings that I cared about enough to take away stuffed into a suitcase that was frayed and falling apart. I could turn around right now, go back in the door, sneak back into my room, and act like I hadn't tried leaving the next morning at breakfast. But this was happening, it was already happening.

I am a good kid. I shouldn't want this. My whole life, I have been complimented my friends of the family, teachers at school, sometimes even just observant strangers in public. They'd talk about how I was so quiet and nice, how my manners were damn near perfect. I bet nobody would expect that me, perfect Tino Vainamoinen, would think for a moment about running away, let alone actually do it.

My feet started moving, and I didn't bother looking where I was going. I didn't look back either. I just kept my eyes forward. It was too dark to really see anything except for the ghostly shadows that marked the houses along this familiar street. I could turn around right now. But I'm not. You could get caught. But I won't! I'm leaving. That's it.

I was amused about how much I was fighting over this, now that I was walking away. I hadn't had any conflict at all when I was packing up my stuff, nor when I was sneaking out the door. The actual leaving of everything I knew was what was messing up my mind, I knew it. But I also knew this would be a temporary feeling. In the end, I would be happy I left.

No cars were on the road next to me. It was so quiet out here. The only thing that reached my ears were the small sounds my feet made when they hit the pavement. No teenagers were up late tonight and partying, no old men were up too late watching old shows too loud. Nothing. It seemed, to me, that the whole world was frozen and I was walking right past them. I guess that is what running away is supposed to feel like. I never knew anyone who had done it, so I never got to ask. But with the big mouth I have, I definitely would have if I did know someone. I'd ask them how it was supposed to feel. I don't like feeling new things much, because I never know if it is normal to feel them. I fear it. What I do not understand petrifies me.

But not enough to stop me, clearly, because I was turning off my street now. The street I rode my bike along as a child, the street I drove on for the first time I drove, the street I was determined to walk away from forever and ever, and never come back to again. The memories of this street wouldn't ever leave me, and that was all I needed from it.

I could still go back. I had the power to. But I also had the power to leave, and that was what I was doing. The house was gone, behind me now. I was off to find a new home anywhere else, no destination in mind. I just was... Going.

Never before have I ever done so much walking in my life, let alone this late, not this scared and this unsure of my destination. That didn't matter much, because even though I was afraid, I was smiling. My fears were only fears of being caught, I realized. I was not scared of being on my own, or leaving everything I knew and was familiar with. What I was doing made me happy. It wouldn't make my parents happy, and their wrath was what made me even think for a second this was a bad idea. The joke was on them though, their wrath was also most of the reason I was walking away from them right now! Thinking about it like this always made me so mad at them. They go on and on about how I'm so bad, then genuinely expect me to stay with them, and be happy. I could never be happy there, and pretending I was? It was an impossible task. I don't think I know what happiness is yet, but leaving was my only chance of finding out about happiness. Happiness sounds so nice. It sounds so hopeful, and I wanna feel hope too. I have a whole spectrum of emotions that I wanna feel.

My feet ached so much. Time passed really quick when you run away, I have discovered. Time was frozen when I was still on my street, and now that I was far enough away that I couldn't even identify where I was, it seemed to be speeding by. That realization hit my body the most, a sting in my legs, a burning in the arm that was holding up the suitcase. The sun was coming up, too. Maybe I should sleep. But looking around, I didn't find anything appropriate to sleep in. I didn't expect a bed like I got in the house, but I dunno. The forest floor didn't seem particularly attractive to me. So, I had to put up with walking for a little longer. Running away kinda stinks, only in how inconvenient it is. There should be some system that helps out kids trying to run away, a place that gave out shelter along the way. Or just someone who drops the poor soul off in a random place far away from home. I'm not asking for much, right? I just need out of that house. I'm not bad for wanting that. My parents don't deserve me, I don't deserve the treatment I get from them. Leaving is what I deserve, I deserve help in doing this. To make up for how crappy I got treated at home, all those years of being told I was wrong, the times I got told I only breathed to serve my parents like I was some slave. It was only fair I got help.

Before I knew it, I was fuming. Childishly so. Running away is not easy, and it wasn't like I didn't know that. Expecting help was so stupid. My pace picked up, fists clenched. I wasn't getting help, as much as I would like that. I was living the hard life of a runaway kid now, and I was still whining as if I had the privilege to whine. But whatever, my emotions didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was finding a place to lay down, maybe sleep if I was lucky. I probably wouldn't get much sleep at all though, my heart was racing, and my mind was alive with thoughts, worries, and just raw emotion in general. What could be expected when you leave everything behind.

The pace I got from my anger kept up until I found an abandoned old barn. The red paint was chipped to hell, and the structure in general was just rusty and decayed. Along my walk though, my standards plummeted. This would do quite well. The door was already open, which was good for me. It would have been rusted on otherwise I assumed, it looked as if I was the only human who had bothered to interact with this old place in quite awhile. It was dark in there, but the sun was peeking out now, so I could see in a little.

The hay on the floor was almost entirely mold, and the musty scent made my nose cringe involuntarily. The memory of a friend I had in grade school popped into my mind. He had really bad asthma, and he had a super bad asthma attack in his aunt's basement when he visited her, brought on by her basement, which was moldy as hell. He was in the hospital for three days I think, if I remember right. I have asthma too.

But all I could do was hope I didn't wind up having an attack. I totally dismissed the thought of taking my inhaler with me, so it was in the medicine cabinet in my old home, where no one would ever use it ever again. Much far out of my reach. Too late to go back and get it now, and that thought made me happy. The whole time I was on my street, I kept going on in my mind on how I could always turn back then and go back. I was finally too far away to have thoughts like that. I was free enough to have thoughts like that.

Settling in, I propped myself in between two stall dividers, in the corner of an old horse stall. If anyone came in here, which I doubted anyone would bother, I was tucked away in this corner. No one would bother looking here. I plopped the suitcase next to me, opening it up. It was surprisingly empty. Just four pairs of clothes, some socks, a journal and a pen. And a wad of six hundred euros. I didn't steal that from anyone, if you are wondering. It was my old savings fund, for moving out. Turns out I couldn't stand waiting until I could legally run out on my parents, but the point is it was my cash. No crimes being committed here. Just a boy running away from home, nothing more. I grabbed the journal, and the pen, and cracked open the book. It was empty. I started writing.

Things I Want To Feel

-Happiness

-Joy

-Bliss

-Surprise (Good surprise!)

-Friendship (With the person I really am, not fake Tino!)

-That feeling of not having to worry.

I smile.

-Eventually, if I am lucky, love.

I keep smiling at that last one. Maybe I would be so lucky. I've already been pretty lucky, nobody noticed me and I've gotten so far! Well, it felt like far anyways. I didn't really care how far away I was right now. I was gone, and I was far enough where I couldn't go back. After I put away the journal, I curled up into a ball on the stable floor. It smelt like crap and mold, but I couldn't stop smiling. And hell, it didn't take long for sleep to pass over me.

Before slept took, I muttered one thing.

"I'll be home soon."