Petra's running shoes were wedged in between her clogs and slide-on sandals. She wiped the dust off of the laces, reminiscing on her days in high-school when she ran track. While the sneakers were the only thing in Petra's closet that were outdated, they reminded her of a happier life. Despite the fact that her upbringing wasn't the purest, running evoked a sense of self that Petra needed.
Each shoe was tied the same way: two knots per shoe, one done at a time. Petra stretched her calf muscles, flexing each shoe into the wall. The pressure felt like home.
Petra quickly made it out of her building and started to run. Her legs felt like jello. Her knees were shaking, but after rounding the corner, her pace got smoother. She felt at ease in her running shoes. Petra didn't realize how much she missed the hard pavement hitting her feet.
Her mind stopped moving. Her feet splashed through a puddle. The fluidity of running gave her a new sense of direction. Finally, she regained the confidence she had before the fire. Maybe I'll open my own clothing store, Petra thought to herself. She still had money left over from the manilla envelope.
After an hour past, Petra began to head home. Something caught her eye. The stare. She saw the bearded man across the street reading today's newspaper. What struck Petra wasn't the man, but the newspaper its self. She could make out the words "DETECTIVE DEAD: RULED HOMICIDE" from across the street.
The image of death brought back thoughts of the smoke. The burning flames. Petra stood still. She accepted the past, but moved forward. As she looked up, the man was once again staring at Petra. She didn't fumble or trip this time. Instead, she waved. She nodded hello to the man as a huge grin spread across her face.
She looked down at her shoes, took one final glance at the paper, and ran home.
Her mind stopped moving. Her feet splashed through a puddle. The fluidity of running gave her a new sense of direction. Finally, she regained the confidence she had before the fire. Maybe I'll open my own clothing store, Petra thought to herself. She still had money left over from the manilla envelope.
After an hour past, Petra began to head home. Something caught her eye. The stare. She saw the bearded man across the street reading today's newspaper. What struck Petra wasn't the man, but the newspaper its self. She could make out the words "DETECTIVE DEAD: RULED HOMICIDE" from across the street.
The image of death brought back thoughts of the smoke. The burning flames. Petra stood still. She accepted the past, but moved forward. As she looked up, the man was once again staring at Petra. She didn't fumble or trip this time. Instead, she waved. She nodded hello to the man as a huge grin spread across her face.
She looked down at her shoes, took one final glance at the paper, and ran home.
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