Running was more enjoyable for him when it was away from the houses. He would run down the unpaved gravel paths of the undeveloped portions of his subdivision. It was quiet there, nothing but the wind and crunch of his steps on the rocks.
The path we somehow stumbled onto turns into a tunnel formed by intertwined trees and vines, the sun poking at whatever holes it can find. It’s unsettling. There seems to be a strange darkness here that I can’t articulate, only feel.
He wasn’t allowed to question anything he had growing up. His parents never worked, but they all lived together in a mansion, had abundant food, and anything they wanted would eventually materialize. When he was older and realized how the world operates, they would scold him for asking.
Venice was beautiful during the day, but at night some areas sent his skin crawling. He navigated his boat through a narrow passageway, searching for the orange building with an open garage. Supposedly, she would be waiting for him in a room above it.
Forks wielded by the children scraped the plates in a scarfing frenzy. They didn’t know the reason for all the food. They simply accepted it, knowing nothing of what was coming.