He doesn’t sleep for more than a few hours. He doesn’t know why it is, just that he has never been able to let the night take him. The house isn’t big enough to hold his thoughts. Everyday it’s on his mind.
The pain only comes when he tries to rest. He tries filling his time with activities to make himself better. Three a. m.
is when he starts running. It’s the best time to go for a run, no one to bug him when he leaves. The house sleeps. He opens the door so the house stays asleep.
He likes to run; it’s the only thing that keeps him going. He tightens his shoes and takes the time to stretch. The chill of the night starts his journey. He runs blind; no set path, he just picks a direction and goes. He goes down the road and through the park; up the hill and past the school.
The road becomes dirt and the houses become corn. The lights of the city are nothing more than a long shadow. Nothing more than the thought of what he is trying to forget. He searches for nothing and doesn’t look back; he forgets the path he took and moves on. Here the world is a place for him to discover, for him to be himself and he doesn’t worry about a thing. The pain doesn’t make a sound out here, away from everything.
He stops. The wind cools his sweat. He sits and watches the stars disappear. He forgets where he is and lets the peace of nothing come upon him. Other runners come by and decide to join him in the grass nearby. He welcomes them with a peaceful smile.
The Essay on Grandpas House
My grandpa's house may seem like just another house, but it actually explains an entire existence. It has every component of a typical house, but there is something about his that makes me think of life and how brief it really is. There are the flowers and the garden in the backyard that have characteristics of one's childhood and the development process. His house has the look of defeat, telling ...
They watch him and wonder what he is doing. With a mouthful of grass, they continue to make sure that he will not hurt them. With white tails high they continue their run, and he decides that he has rested long enough. The night air changes, and it becomes damp.
Clouds cover the moon and he knows what is coming. The first drop hits his nose and the second lands on his chest. The drops start small, but in a matter of minutes they become the size of gumdrops. He doesn’t care because he knows there is nothing he can do about it. Without the moon’s light, the night become very black.
The sky flashes and lights his way. He doesn’t let anything get to him. Even the fact that he knows he is lost. Out in the middle of nowhere, he is what he wants to be. The rain will never hurt him, but the ground will. He misjudges a puddle and falls half a foot down, losing his rhythm.
The ground hits his shoulder hard and he begins to laugh. On his back he watches the sky light up and has only one thing to think about: nothing at all. What seems like minutes is really only seconds. He stands up and finds his rhythm.
He doesn’t even notice that he is bleeding. The blood runs down his arm and off the end of his finger. With every step, the rain cleans the pain that he is sweating out. Alone and there is only the road and himself. The morning sunrise beams him in the face and he realizes where he is. Left, right, or straight ahead.
Before the morning rain dies he must decide. Then he looks behind himself. Where the park and the hills are. Where the school and the streets are. Where the pain of everyday comes from. Where the people that need him are.
He remembers her smile. The road isn’t quite as hard when he turns back.
