January 16, 2017: Marathon
A grumbling sound was rumbling outside. I ran to the window in haste to see what it was, fearful that a storm was coming to spoil my getaway. It was an odd fear. For the last six months since the Sinisters took over, grumbling sounds pounded the streets nearly every hour, but they weren’t the kind that traveled from the collision of clouds overhead. Rather, they were the kind that escaped from automatic weapons at a persistent and dangerous speed. They would bounce off walls of hallowed out homes and obliterated school buildings of our once happy little town. The echoes would travel down every street. The Sinisters were an evil breed, destined to rise from the ground beneath to bring the world above back to the time when they ruled the lands. Such was a time of despair when friends turned against each other, communities closed their doors, and families shut their hearts to the needs of anyone but their kin. The Sinisters were destined to trap us all, but I wouldn’t be trapped, no way. I would seek refuge. My marathon to a distant land was set to begin on that day if the skies were clear, and fortunately they were. The grumbling sounds I heard that day were of the usual kind. My journey as a refugee would thus begin. My heart heavy but my sights ahead, I set forth towards Yuropia. My life now depended on how unlike the Sinisters they were. It depended on their hearts.