As I was walking around the camp I began to daydream to get my mind off of this terrible place and go back to a more peaceful time, my junior year at Liberty High School the week of my most important track meet.
Running on the spongy track. My legs were literally on fire. The finish line seemed miles off. Then my dog began barking next to me, and my mind awoke, happily, to reality but for a quick moment. This time I sat up in bed, I rubbed my eyes and finally clearing my head of this terrible nightmare. I crawled downstairs to see my dad ask about the track team, and I had added how the older boys seemed to really hate me. My dad had been listening to the old baseball game, sitting in his cold colored chair. He then said, as a joke, “Beat them up. Slap ’em around. That’ll teach them something.” I glanced out my window as it was clear or as clear as it gets at 7:30 in the morning in April. I pulled on my blue shorts and a shirt, grabbed my shoes, and snuck down the carpeted stairs. My parents didn’t care for my morning runs, but I didn’t want to take the risk of waking them up this early. Once outside, I sat down on the old deck and pulled on my sneakers. My legs were itching to run. Quickly I tied the laces, then jogged down our gravel driveway. Once I hit the sidewalk, I picked up my pace. I had a track meet Saturday.
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